Psychosis
by Nez
Summary: When a misdirected spell hits Snape, insane Shrek-like activity ensues. Fairytale style matchmaking abounds (though not as cheesily as I'm making it sound). Harry(aka Potterella)Draco, RH, GN, and RS. Please rr!
1. How it began

**Title:**  Psychosis

**Authoress**:  Nez

**Amazing-wonderful beta reader:** Runnernda- my sounding board and main source of inspiration.  Thank you for everything!  

**Pairings:**  HP/DM, R/H, G/N, L/S, R/S   

**Rating:  **PG-13 

**Disclaimer:**  Alas!  I am not J.K. Rowling.  So these characters wouldn't be mine.  Only poor Ford belongs to me, and after this chapter he disappears… 

**Random comments:**  Yay!  ^_^  I'm very excited to finally get this posted- it's been rattling around in my head for the past few months and it's a relief to finally get it all out.  It's rather bizarre, but bizarre is fun!!  I hope you enjoy this!  Comments and criticism welcome.

And now, on to the story…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            It all began on a day that was normal enough.  

The sky was clear, spirits were high, and a general complacent surge of goodwill  drifted in nearly tangible waves through the halls.  Students giggled and scurried through sun-washed passages, lugging bags behind them, chattering placidly among themselves.    

It was, in fact, the kind of day that students all over Hogwarts, in several hours, would begin to speak of with longing reminiscence.  

            Yes, it all began on this perfectly normal day, and with a perfectly normal occurrence.    

            It began with something like this…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            "What's going _on_ here?" Hermione snapped as she swept towards the group forming in the middle of the hall, her best I-Am-an-Angered-Prefect voice drowned out by the yowls and furious yells coming from the center of the crowd.  Harry and Ron  trailed meekly behind the towering pillar of wrath that was Hermione, half cowed by her state of anger (and reminded violently of Percy) and half curious to see what was going on.  

They waded through the mass of shuffling bodies, pushing their way to the center of the group, which, Harry noticed, consisted mostly of Slytherins and Ravenclaws.  The tussle must be between those houses, then…

He was right.  When they finally made it to the space in the center, they were greeted by the sight of a defiant looking third year Ravenclaw and a furious second year Slytherin.  Harry recognized the Slytherin immediately and cringed; he was constantly stirring up fights, seemingly determined to uproot Malfoy's standing as Most Obnoxious Person Alive.  And he was succeeding.  Judging by the sag in Hermione's shoulders, the exact same thoughts were running through her head.  

Ford Witherspoon was a tiny, scrawny specimen of a child, and had a slight lisp that grew worse when he was angry.  Which he most certainly was now.  His face was beet red, and he was brandishing his wand, obscenities pouring like a flood from his mouth.  It was rather disconcerting, hearing such foul language uttered in Ford's childlike lisp.  

The Ravenclaw was growing increasingly affronted, her own wand trembling in her clenched fist.  The noise level built to a buzzing roar as spectators goaded and taunted the two students, the throng crowding forwards, nearly animalistic in its insistence.  

Hermione was not happy.

"ENOUGH!!!" she roared, face scarlet, her prefect badge authoritatively glittering in the sunlight, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE???"

The entire group fell deathly silent, and all eyes turning to fix on the fuming, curly haired prefect.  Ignoring them, she stalked forwards, her shoes clicking sharply on the floor.  She towered over the two students, snapping "_What_ is going on?"

Immediately, shouts and yelled accusations flooded back into the hall, hands gesturing every which way in a wave of flailing limbs and angry faces.  Before Hermione could attempt to restore order, the trembling Ravenclaw girl shrieked, "It's all _HIS_ fault, the filthy little git!"

This was a mistake.  

Ford's face, which had been twisted in rage before, now morphed into mask of seething fury.  "NO ONE CALLTH ME A GIT, YOU THLIMY MUDBLOOD!!!!!!" he roared, eyes sparking dangerously as he launched himself at her, wand outstretched.

Everyone immediately ducked.  Ford was notorious for his bad aim when it came to casting spells.  With a squeak, the Ravenclaw girl dived to the side as his wand flared violet.

"CATHUTH INCANTUM!!!" he bellowed, swinging his wand wildly through the air.  An intense violet burst of light jetted from his wand… and missed.  It shot straight past the girl and over the heads of several crouched students.  

And that was when it happened.

It took a second for everyone to figure out what had happened; all they had seen was a blast of violet exploding from Ford's wand, trailing streaks of fiery mauve in its wake as it tore through the hall, and then suddenly a billow of tumbling black robes filled the end of the corridor, accompanied by a muffled roar of shock.

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she quickly rose to her feet, hastily making her way down the hall.  "Professor Snape?" she asked nervously, her hand fluttering worriedly to her mouth as her footsteps pattered quickly across the stone floor, "Are you all right?"

The rest trailed behind her, hesitant to get too near to Snape.  The potions master was sprawled out over the floor, his face strangely vacant, pale face tilted emptily towards the ceiling.  He didn't respond to Hermione's tentative inquiry.

Ron, surprisingly enough, was the first the approach him, sidestepping the scuffle that was Harry latching onto a fleeing Ford's collar.  

"Is he dead?"  Ron's voice was half hopeful, half horrified as he crouched over his teacher's prone form, a flicker of concern washing over his suddenly pale face as he leaned down to take his pulse.  "Oh.  He's still ali-"

Snape suddenly convulsed harshly, his body jerking off from the floor as if it had been thrown.  With a yell of shock, Ron stumbled back into Hermione, who could only stare, open mouthed, something akin to realization dawning over her face.  Still staring at Snape, she fumbled to help Ron to his feet, intently watching her professor's face, as if she was waiting for something…

She didn't have to wait long.  Snape's face, previously expressionless to the extent that he seemed to be carved from stone, suddenly contorted, a myriad of emotions washing over his sallow face.  His skin seemed nearly translucent, clear as a sheet of ice, a flush of anger and horror flooding beneath its surface.  But slowly, this abrupt show of emotion began to fade, as if it was being shoved forcefully away from the surface, and in its place crept an inexplicable, dazed smile.

And still, his body twitched as if his robes were filled with flobberworms, limbs flailing uselessly.  

Harry gaped in horror, wholly disconcerted, still clutching onto Ford's collar, not knowing what to make of the situation.  

_Oh, Merlin.  We need to get him some help!_

He was about to turn and sprint towards the hospital wing, but before he could make a move, Hermione seemed to guess his intentions, and grabbed his arm, hissing, "Wait."

Harry stared at her.  Her face was twisted into a rather restrained expression, as if she was trying to stop herself from… _laughing._

Harry was about to flood her in a burst of _What_-are-you-talking-abouts, when the sound of tearing cloth suddenly filled the hall, immediately snapping everyone's attention back to Snape.  His body arched off the ground, his face still fixed in that bemused smile, and tatters of black rags fluttered like clumsy birds from his back.  Harry felt his insides turn to ice as a swollen bulge appeared between Snape's shoulder blades, pushing steadily outwards as cloth continued to strain and rip.  

Hermione was the first to see it.  Immediately, her hand flew up to clamp over her mouth, an expression of horrified hysteria struggling over her face.  And then, with a final, resounding tear, Snape's curse was visible to the entire hall.

First one wing tentatively unfurled- then the other.  Two pink, filmy wings hesitantly stretched toward the ceiling, capturing the light that poured into the hall and reflecting it back in a blinding shimmer of glitter.

Snape had sprouted a pair of pink, sparkly wings.

Harry let out a noise something akin to a strangled squeak.  This had to be an illusion.  Snape… with _wings??_  Snape with PINK wings??  No… no… even in the world of magic, such a thing couldn't be possible… Dizzy with confusion, he closed his eyes, rubbed them furiously, opened them again, and stared.  Still there.  Snape was still standing in the middle of the hall, pink wings nearly as large as he was… and he was… _waving a sparkly pink wand through the air???_

A stupefied silence filled the hall, all eyes disbelievingly turned to the… thing that _couldn't_ be Snape that was beaming down at them, tittering to himself.

"Well!"  Fifteen students jerked backwards as the high pitched, giggling voice assaulted their ears.  "Don't all of _you_ look charming today!"  He pinched Ron's cheek, who immediately turned a violent shade of green and looked as if he was about to reintroduce to the world what he had eaten that morning.  "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he-who-was-not-Snape continued in that same girlish voice, "I was just saying to myself, 'Snapey, dear, it's a gorgeous day!  Go outside and enjoy it!'  And you know, I think I will!  I'm going to go outside and talk to the flowers!  Hee hee!  Any one want to come with me?"

Without waiting for and answer, Snape sashayed down the hall, giggling to himself, only stopping once to preen in a mirror he happened to pass.  After blowing his reflection a kiss, he took to the air, and fluttered pinkly out of sight, leaving a ringing silence behind him.

There was a dull thud as Ron fainted.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            "Witherspoon turned Snape into a _WHAT??_"  Ron sat bolt upright in his bed in the infirmary, having just recently been revived.  Now, he gaped openly at Hermione, brown eyes huge with disbelief.

            Hermione flushed embarrassedly from the scrutiny she was being subjected to (Harry was pinning her with a similarly horrified look), and repeated, "A fairy.  Fairy godmother, of sorts."

            Ron and Harry goggled a few seconds more, disbelieving, before collapsing into a fit of hysteria.  They gasped with laughter, spasms of mirth piercing painfully into their sides, but they couldn't stop; all they could see was the memory of Snape, fluttering through the air, large, sparkling wings glittering as he soared away.

            Hermione scowled at first, trying to look disapproving, but soon it was too much for even her to take; the muscles at the side of her mouth twitched, and laughter swelled up in her chest like a balloon.  She finally burst out in a fit of uncontrollable giggles, her eyes tearing up as she clutched her sides, nearly doubled over with laughter.  Between spasms of mirth, she managed to gasp, "We really… ha!  Sh-shouldn't be… ha ha… oh, _Ron,_ stop making those faces!!  Be laughing… ha!!  But _really!_  Snape, a fairy!"

            After the laughter had died down a bit, Ron (still clutching weakly at his sides) asked rather breathlessly, "But _why_?  Why would that little idiot try to turn anyone into a _fairy_?  It sounds more like something an angry Hufflepuff would do."

            "I don't think he meant to," replied Hermione, wiping her eyes, "Remember, Ford has a lisp.  I'm pretty sure he was trying to say 'Casus Incantum,' which would have turned Sara into an oversized newt."

            "A newt, really," laughed Ron, brown eyes glinting mischievously, "Why not a ferret?"

            Hermione whacked him reprovingly on the arm, but couldn't repress a smile of amusement at his words. 

            Harry snorted before turning back to Hermione, a perplexed frown flitting over his face as he asked, "But why is Snape so… well… how do I put this?"

"Freakishly hyper?" Ron inserted helpfully.

"Exactly.  Aren't fairy godmothers supposed to be more…  I don't know… _motherly_?"

            Hermione shrugged, pushing her hair out of her face.  "Ford is only a second year; it's astounding that he was able to perform such a difficult spell at all, especially when he wasn't intending to.  It's very possible that he could have performed the spell incorrectly… Oh!"  Suddenly, she sat upright with a start, her eyes lighting up as a flash of remembrance sparked in the fringes of her mind.  "Wait!" she said, breathlessly, "I think I remember reading about one instance when Cathuth Incantum was performed incorrectly… I'm relatively sure the subject went temporarily insane and formed a growing obsession with fairytales, and insisted on surrounding himself with the subjects of fables for the month in which he was enchanted."

            Harry stared.  That could _not_ be a good thing.  Images of himself scurrying around in pigtails and a red cloak filled his mind, and he cringed in horror.  He was about to voice his not-so-pleasant thoughts when suddenly he was interrupted by resounding crash that exploded from the room at the end of the infirmary.  

            Ron, nearly shooting straight out of his bed in shock, latched on to Hermione's arm and stared at the door, which still shaking and rattling from the impact of the blow.  "What was _that_??"

            "I don't know… but that was the room they locked Snape in, so it _can't _be good," Hermione replied, rather distractedly.  She could feel the warmth of Ron's hand seeping into her skin, and her face suddenly felt flushed and an odd sensation stirred in her chest as she tried to pry his fingers from her arm.  But he wasn't paying attention- both his attention and Harry's were focused on Snape's door.

            BANG!!!

Harry lurched backwards, yelling in shock as the door at the end of the infirmary suddenly exploded outwards, the wooden boards delivering an earsplitting crack on the stone wall as hinges screeched in complaint.  He gave a sharp cry of astonishment, eyes nearly bugging out of his head as three little pigs, dressed in overalls, scurried frantically out of the room on their hind legs, squealing as if their tails were on fire.  Their beady little black eyes were filled with horror, and the bumped and stumbled over each other, struggling to get out of the infirmary.  Maniacal laughter stabbed the air as Snape's cackling voice trailed after them: "Watch out for wolvsies, dears!!  Mwahaha!  Ah, fairytales are beautiful things…"

            As they tottered away, Harry heard one squeal angrily in a voice sounding uncannily like Professor McGonagall's, "We are going to find Witherspoon.  NOW."

            "But, Minerva…" a second pig snorted in a rumbling voice that would have shown distinct similarities to Madam Pomfrey's had it not been so pig-like, "We're going to be like this until the spell wears off, which won't be for another month!!  We can't enforce authority like _this!!"_

            The squeal of their voices and the clatter of their hooves slowly faded into the distance, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione in a state of paralyzed trauma.  They stared at each other, unable to absorb what they had just seen, opening and closing their mouths like fish out of water.

            "That was…"

            "McGonagall."

            "And…"

            "Pomfrey…"

            "The third was…?"  
  


            "Hagrid, maybe?"

            "He was larger than the other two…"

            "And he had a beard…"

            "Oh, Merlin.  Oh, _MERLIN._  Our teachers are…"

            "_PIGS._  Our teachers are _PIGS!!!!_"

            "Correction- they're the Three Little Pigs, from the fable."

            "Fable?  What's a fable?"

            "A muggle thing, Ron."

            "Oh, _no_!  How am I supposed to hand in my Transfiguration essay if my teacher is a pig_??_"    

            Harry and Ron had turned to stare incredulously at Hermione and were about to speak when suddenly, a dark, looming shadow fell silently over them, and a current of wind gently fanned their hair.               

They froze.  Their eyes mirrored each other's horror, mouths falling open as dismayed realization gradually edged into the fringes of their minds.  Slowly, almost afraid of what they would see, they looked upwards.  And there he hovered, sparkly wings and all, Professor Snape.

"Hello, children," he crooned, greasy hair falling over his sallow face as he leered down at them, pitch black eyes reflecting shadows of something not quite right swimming darkly beneath the surface. "Now, _what _shall I do with you?"

Harry gave a strangled squeak of horror, and his hand immediately shot towards his wand, but before he could do anything, he was suffused in a roar of blinding white light.  The floor dissolved from beneath his feet as the spell pressed suffocatingly in on him, seeping thickly through his skin, the acrid tang of fairy magic coating his tongue, overwhelming him and making him light-headed.  Black spots began to swim in his vision as he felt the magic overtake him; it was too much for him to take… A flood of darkness rushed through him and he fell into the welcome embrace of oblivion.

~*~*~*~*~

Melodrama is good.  ^_^   Ahaha!  (Me?  Drama queen?  Nooo…)  

**Fairytales That Appear in this Chapter:**

            *The Three Little Pigs

Thanks for reading chapter 1!  Hopefully, the second chapter will be up soon.  Meanwhile... succumb to your deep craving desire to send me a review!  ^_^  It would be most appreciated.  

Have a nice day!


	2. Of portraits and pans

Chapter 2

_The insanity continues._

Blood pounded through Ron's head as visions slowly cracked and drifted like ice floes through the haze of his mind, the dreamy fog that embraced him slowly pulling away as he felt himself drawn back into the waking world.  Vague memories of sparkly pink wings, maniacal laughter, and blinding white light swam through his head as he slowly opened his eyes, staring at the stone ceiling that wavered into his line of vision.

Ack.  Headache.

Clamping a hand to his sore head and groaning softly, he heaved himself with considerable effort into sitting position and looked around.  He blinked as he found himself staring at a wide expanse of painted cloth…  looking up, he saw the face of the Fat Lady peering down at him, lips curved upward in an odd looking smile.  In fact, everything about the Fat Lady seemed to look odd…

Slowly, he backed away from the painting, eyes widening.  The Fat Lady was adorned in flowing, black robes, and random mouse bones twined around her neck in place of her usual pearls.  A mirror that hadn't been there before hung behind her, and in her left hand she clutched a ripe, brilliantly red apple that was so carefully painted and detailed that it seemed nearly to glow lustrously in the light.  And besides these changes, there was something… _off_… about her face…

Her twisted smile grew as she leered down at him, and the flabby skin that hung around her face, usually comfortably benevolent, now fell into creasing folds that made her look almost _evil_.  "Why, hello, there," she said softly, her narrowed eyes pinning him to the floor as she slowly extended the apple.  "Would you like a bite?"      

Ron gulped.  "Um… no.  Uh, I mean… thanks, but… um… I don't think I can eat paint."

"What's this?"  

Both Ron and the Fat Lady jerked up as the sound of hooves filled their ears, and Sir Cadogan could be seen, galloping his gallant way over to the Fat Lady's painting.  Or… pretending to gallop.  He was, in fact, clapping coconut shells together.  (A/N:  Monty Python!  Monty Python!!)

"I shall eat your apple, fair maiden!  Let not this cur insult you so!  Such a noble gift must be received with chivalry!"  With that, he hopped into the Fat Lady's painting, gave a flourishing bow (in which he nearly toppled over), graciously accepted the apple, took a bite, and promptly fell with a dull 'THONK' onto the floor, unconscious.

Ron gaped, horrified, as the Fat Lady threw her head back and began laughing maniacally.  Lightning crashed and boomed behind her.

"Um… right then," Ron laughed nervously, backing up further.  This must be one of those Pables, or whatever they were called, that Hermione was talking about… had he been unconscious so long that Snape had been able to extend his clutches this far?  

At the thought of Hermione, his stomach lurched in his chest, eyes widening in horror.  _Where were Harry and Hermione???_

A surge of panic flooded through his system, and he dug his fingers through his flaming hair, his head jerking back and forth as his eyes furiously scanned the hall.  What if Snape had already gotten them?!!  Visions of Evil Hermiones brandishing poisoned apples danced through his head as he rushed frantically through the hall.  _Where were they??_

Suddenly, the floor lurched upwards to meet his face and he found himself sprawled over the cold, stone ground, nose throbbing painfully from where it had hit the floor.  "_Owwww…_" he groaned, clamping his hand to his bruised appendage, looking around to see what had tripped him.

Hermione.    

He breathed a sigh of relief that was so heartfelt it was nearly a squeak (although Ron wouldn't have admitted it.  Squeaking was un-manly.) and hurriedly crawled over to her side.  Her face was paler than usual, and a little more drawn than he would have liked, but besides that, she seemed fine.  Ron sighed again, and smiled with relief, reaching down to brush a lock of curling brown hair from her face.  Her face puckered slightly in her sleep, that familiar wrinkle in her nose popping up as she murmured under her breath.  She looked so peaceful… almost… beautiful, in a way…

He jerked in surprise at his thoughts and immediately shook himself.  What was he thinking??  This was no place to be contemplating wrinkles in his best friend's nose, no matter how cute it was… no!  No.  He was not thinking this.  He had to be Practical Ron, and right now the practical thing to do would probably be to wake her up.  

Still rather unhinged by his thoughts, he shook her rather harder than he had intended, and her head lolled on her neck as she jolted back and forth.  "'Mione, can you hear me?  Wake up, it's ok, I'm not mentally deranged and am without wings…" he quickly checked his back at this point to reassure himself of the truth of that statement, "…hopefully, you are too…"  He added the last part rather nervously, backing away slightly, but continued to poke anxiously at her.  After a few more such shakings, Hermione began to stir, hazy brown eyes blinking blearily open to stare dazedly at the ceiling.  

"Hermione!  _Finally_, you're up."  Breathing a sigh of relief, some of the tangled knots of anxiety that twisted in his stomach loosened, and he carefully helped her ease into sitting position.  Shaking her head, she blinked dazedly at him, her gaze still slightly unfocused.  

"Ron?" she ventured shakily.

"The last time I checked, that was my name," he said easily.  Behind him, the Fat Lady burst into another spasm of maniacal laughter, and more lightning exploded furiously behind her.  Hermione blinked at her.  "Oh, my."

"You can say that again."

"Poor Fat Lady…"

"I don't know… she seems to be enjoying herself."

"True," Hermione laughed, "and at least it seems that Snape chose to spare us…" Suddenly, she frowned, looking around. "Speaking of 'us,' where's Harry?  Is he with you?"  A hint of anxiety began to creep into her eyes as she painfully wobbled to her feet, peering worriedly down the hall as Ron supported her.  

Ron jolted.  How had he forgotten about Harry??  A guilty flush rose in his cheeks and he looked quickly away from Hermione.  What was wrong with him today??  "No, I haven't seen him," he replied, unable to keep his agitation from creeping into his voice, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he's somewhere nearby."

Hermione's frown deepened.  "I don't see him…" she said slowly.

Ron shrugged.  "Well, I didn't see _you_ until I fell over you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned, although preoccupation still weighted her words like stones.  "That's because you're _oblivious_, Ron.  And take a look for yourself… he's not here."  

Ron blinked as he looked down the hall.  Empty.  A worried frown creased his forehead, and that nagging sense of anxiety slowly creeping back once more, a clawing, itching sensation that something wasn't quite right.  

"You're right, he's not…  where could he be?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Harry's head throbbed painfully, each dull thud of his heart wracking his head with a fresh wave of pain.  Moaning, he clamped a hand to his forehead, fingers tracing the familiar ridges of his scar… but it wasn't his scar that was hurting this time.  He frowned.  Why did he have a headache?  Why did he feel as if he had just slept on top of a pile of boulders?  And, most importantly, what was that tinny voice squeaking in his ear?     

            Gradually, the insistent squeaking noises tumbled into an unrelenting stream of comprehensible sounds, and he realized that someone was talking to him in a high-pitched voice that stabbed, needle-like, through his eardrums, making his head ache even more.  Groaning, he eased his heavy eyelids open, pushing away the fog of sleep that still surrounded him.  Blinking dazedly, he stared up into an enormous pair of green eyes.  

            Harry goggled, immediately snapped clearly back into reality.  "_Dobby??_" he gasped incredulously.  

            "Ah, Potterella is awake!!  Dobby was very worried, sir, Potterella is washing the dishes when suddenly he falls over!  Dobby thought Potterella was sick!"

            The house elf hovered over him, darting and flickering about, making Harry's head swim as he tried to follow his constant state of motion.  Who was this Potterella…?

            "Who is Potterella, Dobby?  What… what's going on?"  He shook his head, wishing fervently that the room would stop spinning, and looked away from Dobby's hopping figure, staring bemusedly at his surroundings.  High, stone roof, long rows of tables, countless heaps of kitchen supplies piled in corners, a sea of jittery house elves, all staring at him…  how had he gotten into the kitchen?!?

            Dobby's eyes widened in horror at Harry's question.  He clamped a spindly hand over his mouth, whirling around to face the other house elves, squealing in a horror-struck voice, "Potterella forgets who he is!  Potterella doesn't remember!!"

            Chaos immediately exploded among the occupants of the kitchen.  Cries of "Oh, Potterella!" and "Those stepsisters, they is too harsh!  This is what happens when they is too harsh on Potterella!" filled the kitchen, echoing dizzily off the walls.  Dobby immediately sprang toward his side and began poking his forehead, firing out a barrage of questions ("What color is the sky?" "How many fingers is Dobby having?") concern and anxiety jumbling in the confused mass of those enormous eyes.  

            And then it hit him.

            Harry realized what had happened.

            He was Cinderella.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            "Maybe he's in the common room?" Hermione suggested hopefully, trotting back towards the Fat Lady.  Ron trailed behind her rather apprehensively, eyeing the portrait uneasily.  When she saw Hermione, she immediately stopped laughing, and the lightning vanished in an instant.  In fact, Ron was almost sure he could hear birds twittering in the background as she beamed a sugary sweet smile down at the bushy-haired girl.  "Would you like an ap-"  

            "Contra Posto," Hermione interrupted briskly, sidestepping the painting as it swung smoothly open, and ignoring the Fat Lady's indignant cries.  Ron hurriedly crawled into the portrait hole behind her, so unnerved by the portrait that he didn't notice the eerie silence that wafted through to meet them.  Quickly pulling the painting shut with a click, he heaved a sigh of relief and turned around, promptly colliding straight into Hermione.  She stood before him, frozen, back rigid as she stared straight ahead of her.  Ron frowned, trying to peer around her shoulder.

            "Hermione?  What's the ma- oh.  _OH._"  His jaw dropped open in shock at the sight that met his eyes.  

The entire Gryffindor Tower was muffled in an eerie, thick silence that seemed to weigh down the air they breathed.  The only sound that disturbed the silence whispered like a faint rustling of leaves, a soft ripple of disjointed sound that brushed against their ears-  the collective breathing of a houseful of sleeping Gryffindors.

            They were draped limply all over the common room, heads lolling and arms dangling.  They didn't even look like they had settled down for a random communal sleepover-  some were draped over chessboards, chess pieces scattered around them, some had collapsed over their books, and Fred lay face down, his upper body on the floor but his feet propped up on a low table near him, looking as if he had been standing there when he had fallen asleep.

            Ron nervously touched Hermione's arm, snapping her out of her horrified trance.  "What's going on?" he whispered, his words pushing thickly through the dense silence.

            "Sleeping Beauty," she whispered back, as if that explained everything.  Ron stared at her.  

"_What_?!"

"I'll explain later," she whispered distractedly, waving a hand at him, her eyes still fixed on the sleeping students.  Cautiously, she stepped into the room, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.  She padded carefully through the tower, sidestepping the draped bodies of her classmates, evidently looking for something.  Ron watched her for several moments, still baffled, before following suit and fully entering the room.  He crouched next to Fred and gently eased him into a more comfortable position, heaving, with some effort, both of his lifeless legs to the ground.  Fred responded by snoring like a foghorn.  Both Hermione and Ron jumped, completely unglued by the sudden sound that abruptly shattered the deathly silence, and looked at each other.

Suddenly, a smile flashed over Hermione's face and she gave a soft laugh as she watched the comically snoring Fred.  Ron's shoulders untensed, and he smiled as well.  Some of the strain that shrouded the room was dispelled, and they continued making their way around the room.

"Aha!"

Ron looked up from George's limp body to turn to Hermione.  "What is it?" he asked, no longer bothering to whisper.  She triumphantly brandished a fluttering fragment of parchment and hopped over several recumbent students to his side, handing it to him.  He squinted at it in the dim light, trying to make out the loopy, flourishing script that scrawled over its surface.  It read:

Hello there!  My stunningly rugged good looks have enraptured two of your little friends, and I now have them in my keeping.  You shall never retrieve them!  They're in the Astronomy Tower, by the way.  So, if you ever want to see Lavender and… Seamus, is it?  Again, you might want to try to defeat me.  I shall look forward to the encounter!  It shall end in your bloody demise!

                                                                                    Much love! ;)

Ron raised his eyebrows.  "Oh, ok then."

            Hermione, who was peering over his shoulder, suddenly frowned.  "Is it just me," she said slowly, "or does that handwriting look uncannily familiar?"

            Ron scratched his head, wrinkling his brow in thought.  "I know what you mean…"

            They stared at it for several seconds, trying to figure out _who_ it reminded them of, a vague memory tickling at the very borders of their minds...  Then Hermione sighed, snatching the paper from Ron's hand and carefully folding it into her pocket.  "Well, it won't benefit us at all to stand around gawking at the paper all night.  We know what's going on now, and we know that no one will come to harm of this particular spell…"

            "_No one will come to harm??_  Does 'bloody demise' sound harmless to you??"

            "Ron," she explained patiently, "This fairytale has a _happy ending_.  Everyone lives.  And it seems… it's fallen to us to rescue them.  So we might as well rest before we start off to the Astronomy Tower- it's rather late.  We need to conserve our strength if we're going to face… whoever this is."

            Ron reluctantly nodded in agreement.  It made sense.  But still… there was something tugging uneasily at the edge of his mind… they were forgetting something.  

            _Harry._  

How had they forgotten Harry?!?!!?

            Oh, right.  They had been only slightly sidetracked by a tower-full of knocked out, drooling Gryffindors. 

            Judging by the expression crossing Hermione's face, she was thinking exactly the same thing.

            "He's not here," she said, voice tight, eyes widening anxiously as she hurriedly scanned the room.

            "Do you… do you think he's in one of these Pables, too?"

            "_Fables_, Ron.  Muggle stories about magic.  And yes, it appears so…" 

            "What should we do??  We have to find him!"

            Hermione frowned, running a hand through her hair, conflicting emotions showing clearly in her eyes.  She looked inexplicably embarrassed about something.  "Ron…" She paused, sighing, before starting up again.  "We have to find Seamus and Lavender first.  Right now, they're our responsibility, and I think whatever Harry is going through right now, he'll have to go through himself."

            Ron stared at her as if she had sprouted two extra heads.  Hermione, embarrassed by his scrutiny, quickly plowed on before he could interject.  "I remembered something while I was reading the note," she said, her words tumbling out in a rush, "Snape…"  She paused here to clamp her hands over her cheeks, which were becoming increasingly flushed.  Flustered, and staring pointedly at her shoes, she burst out, "The spell, besides giving him a penchant for fairytales, has… well, he's something of a… he's… how do I put this?  He… he pretty much sees what everyone is in denial about, and tries to get them _out_ of denial by making them face... whatever it is that they're in denial about." 

Ron stared at her.  "So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that we're in denial about wanting all of Gryffindor to be conked out so we can have the common room to ourselves??  Hah!  That is bloody brilliant!!  Now we'll finally have some _peace!_"

"_NO!_" Hermione hissed impatiently, now flushed a brilliant shade of crimson as she glared at him from beneath messy strands of hair that had come loose from her constantly raking her hand through it.  "We're… I'm… I'll explain it to you tomorrow."  With that, she abruptly turned on her heel and hightailed it up to the girl's dormitory, disappearing in a frantic sweep of black cloth and wild hair.

Ron stared after her, dumbfounded by her sudden mood swing.  "Girls," he muttered balefully, shaking his head.  "I will _never_ understand them.  

He sighed, sinking into a nearby chair, barely missing Alicia Spinnet's limp foot as he did so.  He didn't know _what_ Hermione had been blathering on about with the whole denial thing, but it just didn't seem RIGHT, leaving his best friend out there to fend for himself.  And Merlin knows _what_ kind of torture he was being put through now…

~*~*~

            "AUUGGGHHHH!!!!!" 

            Trevor latched himself onto Harry's face, croaking over and over again, "My name is Gus Gus!  My name is Gus Gus!"

"Get OFF me, Trevor, I can't see!!"

Harry stumbled madly through the kitchen, tripped over a pile of ladles, and upset a precariously positioned cauldron, which promptly proceeded to smash into the back of his head.

~*~*~

            Ron sighed, wondering what Harry was up to.  A faint tinge of jealousy lanced sourly through his stomach as he imagined Harry gallantly slaying dragons and saving damsels in distress...  He had probably been landed with something that would only make him even MORE popular when this whole fiasco ended, while Ron was stuck rescuing Lavender and Seamus from some loon…

~*~*~

            CLANG, SMASH!!

            "No, Potterella!  This is Biting Pan!!  Potterella not touch Biting Pan!!"

            CHOMP.

            "AUGGHHHH!!!!!"

~*~*~

            Ron shook his head, viciously berating himself for allowing himself to be jealous.  Being jealous of The Boy Who Lived in a Constant State of Glory wouldn't get him anywhere, as he had found out last year.  Those months sulking by himself had given him plenty of time to mull over how much Harry's friendship really did mean to him.  And it had also made him loath to leave Harry in a position that could be potentially… well… he wasn't sure if _dangerous_ was the right word, but who knew what Mentally Unhinged Fairy Snape would think of next??

But, still, from what Ron had managed to glean from Hermione's frantic blathering, there was some sort of method to Snape's extreme state of madness.  Harry would have to go through with this himself, then.  Sighing, he bowed his head, resigning himself to this conclusion, and his tired eyes wandering towards his brother George, who lay nearby.

            "So," he said conversationally to the snoring George, "does this mean you're in denial about being asleep?"     

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Fairytale Count:**

            *Snow White

            *Cinderella

            *Sleeping Beauty

_Phew. _ Finally, this chapter is done with!  It took forever to get it done- the whole Ron soliloquy was especially frustrating.  But it's done, yay!  ^_^  I hope this isn't intensely boring or horrific.  But if it _is_, tell me, please!!  I would be most gratified.  *bows*  


	3. Well, I'm just a sweet transvestite

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!  You're wonderful!  ^_^

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 3

            Neville shrank nervously away from the Fat Lady, Ginny beside him.  "Neville, it's just a _painting,_" she said patiently, trying to tug him towards the portrait hole.  But the Fat Lady turned to grin malevolently at him, and he stumbled even further back.  

"But… but… look what she did to Sir Cadogan!" 

Ginny had accompanied Neville to the library to take out a book on Snapping Griswolds, a particularly nasty plant that both the fourth and fifth years were working with in Herbology.  Neither Ginny or Neville had realized they had an assignment on it due tomorrow, and in panic, they had snuck out of the common room to rush to the library.  And they had come back to find… this.  

"Those rumors they were spreading about Snape being a Fairy Godmother must be true, then!" Neville gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth.  Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently.  

"Neville," she said long-sufferingly, "I know.  But it's _late_.  And we still have homework, and we _have to get into the Tower before someone sees us._  Especially before _Snape _sees us!!  So come on!"  She dragged his staggering self over to the painting and said, a little more snappishly than she had intended, "Contra Posto."  

Nothing happened.

Ginny blinked.

The Fat Lady grinned.

"Uhh… Contra… contra posto?  Open Sesame??  Please open now??"  Ginny tried nervously, taking an involuntary step backwards into a shaking Neville as the Fat Lady's smirk grew. 

"The last people who opened me were very, very rude," she crooned.  "And imagine my luck!  Snapey dearest happened to fly straight past during my impassioned lament of disrespectful youngsters, and had compassion on this poor old woman, and allowed me to accept and reject who I please.  And _you,_" she screeched with relish, evidently having the time of her life, "you impertinent hussy, are REJECTED!!!"

Neville gave an undignified squeak as she barked the last words echoingly into the silence of the halls, and stumbled backwards, immediately turning to shoot gracelessly down the hall.  "Neville!" Ginny hissed, turning sharply and darting after him, feeling rather peeved as she raced through the passage, but secretly rather glad that she had an excuse to get away from the Fat Lady.  She was just plain _unnerving._

Neville's hastily retreating figure bobbed before her in the semi-darkness, and with an exasperated sigh, she put up an extra spurt of speed, tearing after him, feet padding echoingly on the icy stone floor.  It really was chilly tonight, she thought with a shiver, impatiently brushing a clump of ginger hair from her face as it blew into her eyes.  This was one of the first times she had been out of the common room this late at night, and she wasn't sure she liked it.  Harsh, flickering torches cast pools of uneasy orange light that only accentuated the lurking gloom beyond, and she felt as if countless eyes were staring at her from the shadows…

She shook her head violently.  _No._  She had gotten rid of her fear of the dark years ago… she wasn't going to let it come back now… Drawing a deep, bracing breath, she sped off down the hall, hoping that Snape wouldn't descend on her from the shadows.

She skidded to a halt, hair flying in her face, when she reached Hogwarts' enormous foyer, the front doors looming over her in the darkness.  Neville stood, frozen, several feet away from her, staring at something with wide eyes.  Confused, and not a little apprehensive, Ginny followed his gaze and gaped.  

Mrs. Norris.

Or, to put it more correctly, Mrs. Norris-in-Boots.

She stood on her hind legs, tiny leather boots molded smoothly to her paws, clasped shut by rigid brass buckles.  A bag was slung over her shoulder, grasped firmly in her forepaws, and her lamp-like amber eyes peered inquisitively at them through the darkness.  After contemplating them for several seconds, she waved cheerily, and then trotted past them down the hall, melting into the shadows.

They stared after her for several seconds, disbelieving.

"Oh, my God," whispered Ginny, and they both dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter, the ringing mirth echoing merrily through the towering expanse of the hall.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            Harry, (a.k.a. Potterella) stared glumly at the dish he held in his hands.  Covered in the chunky, solidified mass of baked beans that he recognized as last night's dinner, it sat defiantly in his hands, practically screeching, _Clean me!!_

            Which dish was this??  His twentieth?  Fiftieth?  Hundredth seemed more accurate… with a scowl and a disgruntled grunt he grabbed his brush and attacked the plate with it, scraping violently at the grit.  Sudsy water splashed up and drenched his arms and the tattered rags he now wore, but he didn't care any more.  After what seemed to be hours of washing dishes, he was beginning to get rather ticked off.  His hands, chaffed and red from all of the scrubbing and boiling water they had been subjected to (and from some rather merciless treatment from the Biting Pan, which was now sulking in the corner after he had dented it several times), were beginning to sting and throb, and he stared at them remorsefully, still scrubbing away at the plate.

            Sighing, he stared blankly at the sandstone walls, allowing his mind to drift.  He wondered worriedly where Hermione and Ron were, and what they were doing… he let out a silent prayer that they weren't stuck in a Grimm Brother's version of a fairytale… 

 He looked down at his plate, dark bangs falling messily over his face.  Still bean-covered.  Jeez, what kind of slob _was _this person?!  He scowled in frustration.  There was still a mountain of plates waiting to be cleaned…

            He sighed and stared at the mound upon mound of dishes towering leering over him.  _Evil plates_.  He would never look at one the same way again after this.  The warm glow of the torches flaring cheerfully on the walls beside him did nothing to alleviate his mood.  Once this spell was over with, Snape was going to _die…_

            His happy fantasies of Snape-torture were suddenly shattered as the still life of the pear exploded outwards, revealing two dark, hulking silhouettes framed by the flaring torchlight behind them.  Harry blanched, setting down his baked-bean encrusted plate with a sharp clack.

            Uh-oh.

            The evil stepsisters.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"That was a good idea, Neville," Ginny remarked, pleased with her friend.  "Hagrid will know what we should do…"

            The pair trekked their way through the damp, ruffling grass, the bright, slender curve of the moon bathing everything in a pale, silvery glow, giving them just enough light to see by.  Neville smiled, running a hand through his tousled hair, evidently pleased by the compliment.  "Thanks.  And… I-I'm sorry I ran out on you like that… she was just…"

            Ginny laughed.  "Terrifying??  I agree," she said cheerfully, smiling at him.  "If you had waited a little longer, it would have been _me_ shooting down the hall with you chasing after me!"

            Neville smiled again, and they approached Hagrid's hut in companionable silence.  It huddled against the dark backdrop of the Forbidden Forest, the golden light streaming from the window a quiet beacon of peace in the sea of cold, ethereal semi-darkness.  

Neville blinked suddenly.  Wait… there was something… _different_… about the window, and come to think of it, the rest of the house as well…  

            Neville gaped.  "Ginny, _look._  Hagrid's house…!"

            Ginny squeaked in shocked delight.  "Ooh… look!  It's made of candy!"        

            And indeed it was.  The doorframes and window lattices were peppermint, icing dotted with chunks of rich chocolate and Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans glistened temptingly on the roof, and the faint, mouth-watering, spicy-sweet aroma of gingerbread wafted from the walls.  

            She immediately darted towards it but Neville quickly grabbed her wrist, holding her back.  "Wait," he whispered nervously, "do you know anything about Muggle fairytales?"  She stared at him, realization slowly dawning in widened brown eyes.  

            "No, I don't," she said slowly, turning to stare at the hut.  "But not all of them end happily, do they?"

            "I don't think so," Neville said, shaking his head.  "But maybe we should look through the window, to see if Hagrid's… well…"

            Ginny nodded, and cautiously, they crept up to the nearest window (only briefly distracted by the fact that it was spun of sugar) and peered through.

            And their mouths dropped open in shock.  

            In the center of the room stooped Fang, resplendent in a black cape and hood, a knobby walking stick clenched in one paw.  He hobbled on his hind legs through the room, woofing to himself in a way that sounded eerily like bursts of cackling, and tossed logs of wood into the roaring fire that crackled and sparked in the enormous fireplace, casting the room in a deep reddish glow.  At one end of the room was a roughly constructed wooden cage that hadn't been there before, and three little pigs squatted inside, looking as peeved as pigs can look.  The one with the bushy black beard grumbled sorrowfully to himself and stared up at Fang with tearful black eyes, looking betrayed.  

Once in a while, Fang would hobble up to the cage, bark, and the pig with spectacles would hold out a twig.  The dog would paw it with his claws before letting out a snuffling huff of disappointment and padding away.   

            Ginny and Neville, horrified, slowly backed away from the window, staring dazedly at each other.  "O…k," whispered Ginny, eyes wide, "Not going in there."

            "What should we do, then?" Neville whispered in return as they quickly stumbled away from the sugar-bedecked hut, "Maybe we should just sleep out here.  If we sleep in the hallways, Snape will probably find us…"

            Ginny shuddered.  "And Merlin only knows what he'll do to us.  Look, there's a tree by the lake… if we climb up there, he won't be able to see us, and it won't be as damp as sleeping on the ground.  Come on, let's go!"

            With that, they took off, rushing across the lawn.  And behind them, from the shadows, a pair of pink wings fluttered softly, dark eyes contemplating their retreating forms.  He had an idea…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Who were they??  Harry squinted at their silhouettes, trying to make out who they were.  He had given some thought to this, and he figured it would probably be Parvati and Padma.  But these two were much too _bulky_ to be either of them. 

            They flounced into the room, skirts swirling around their stocky forms as they pranced.  

"POTTERELLA!" the one on the right bellowed in a very un-feminine voice, "Where are those frocks you were ironing for me?  I need them, like, _now_!"

Harry stared.  Harry goggled.  Harry was sure he was going to be sick.

There before him stood, drowning in a sea of ruffles and lace, makeup plastered inexpertly all over their faces, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.  Vincent giggled girlishly and took out a compact, his huge, meaty hand liberally applying large amounts of powder to his square face.  Gregory merely scowled in a manner that clearly said, 'Give me my frocks before I shove your mug in that blender there.'

But Harry couldn't move.  Even if he had known where the frocks were, he wouldn't have been able to move, because he was presently occupied with catapulting headfirst into an advanced state of shock.  

Crabbe and Goyle.  His stepsisters were CRABBE and GOYLE.  Crabbe and Goyle were his STEPSISTERS.  A bubble of hysteria rose in his throat, and his sides began to shake, but remembering the stepsisters from the story, he didn't dare let his laughter out.  Even though the heavy mascara lining Goyle's eyes and the pink bow perched on his buzz cut _did_ detract a little from the intimidation factor…

He was turning nearly purple with restrained laughter, and Goyle was becoming increasingly peeved.  Oh, god, he was going to get pummeled...  and then, suddenly, a pile of ruffled dresses popped out of nowhere and scurried in front of him, hurrying towards the large bo… girl.  Harry breathed a shaking sigh of giggling relief as Trevor croaked by his side, watching as the house elf hurried towards Goyle.  

_Thank you_, Dobby.

Pleased, Gregory snatched the dresses from the house elf and hugged them too him, giggling.  "Ahh… here they are…  _Potterella!_  There's a STAIN on my FAVORITE FROCK!"

Harry stared as a froth of pink lace swung in his face, a meaty claw poking at a tiny brown smudge on the very edge of the skirt.  "REWASH ALL OF THEM!!!!" he bellowed, furious with rage, throwing the entire pile of dresses into Harry's face, who quickly scrambled to accommodate the sudden rain of ribbon and chiffon.  Still roaring his grievances at the top of his lungs, he lobbed Harry painfully over the head and grabbed Crabbe's wrist, dragging him out of this kitchen, flinging squealing house elves out of his path as he stormed away.     

            Head throbbing, Harry reeled backwards, attempting in vain to regain his balance before falling with a heavy thump to the floor.  Dazedly, he stared after their retreating forms, flouncing furiously from the room.  The portrait slammed behind them with a resounding bang, leaving the room shrouded in stunned silence.  

            Harry sat, frozen, for several seconds, mouth ajar.  And then, slowly, the trembling hysteria he'd fiercely clamped down before bubbled to the surface, and rushed to his throat in a sudden burst of uncontrollable laughter.  He buried his face in the mound of frocks before him, shaking wildly, howling at the top of his lungs. 

            _THAT_ was one image that was going to stay with him forever…         

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Fairytale Count:**

*Puss in boots

            *Hansel and Gretel

DON'T WORRY!!  Draco's in the next chapter!!

Please review!


	4. The sword and the Draco

Ok.  The next few chapters need some explaining.  They had take place during the same day, though at different times, so it's a bit sporadic and jumpy.  ~_~()  Sorry about that!  All write 'Day One' and such so you can keep track.

**Chapter 4**

**Day One**

            Pale fingers snapped in time with the brisk beat in his head as Draco practically bounced down the hall, and he would have started humming it if humming wasn't so horribly undignified.  And very un-Syltherinish.  Who ever heard of a humming Slytherin?  

But he couldn't help it… a very un-Draco-like giggled bubbled dangerously in the back of his throat, but he managed to clamp it down, spreading it instead into a wide, smug smirk that seemed to encompass his entire face.

            Ahh, life was good.

            The soft morning sunlight smoothly outlined his face as he passed a window, and a quiet flutter of birdsong sifted through the air.  Draco blinked and paused, cocking his head to the side, gray eyes fixed on the small bird that twittered peacefully nearby.  After contemplating it for several moments, he whipped out a wand and cast a stunning spell on it, smirking in satisfaction as it tumbled to the ground in a dazed flurry of crimson feathers.    

            "Nice aim," commented a measured voice from directly over his shoulder.  

            Draco, unruffled, turned and found himself face to face with one Blaise Zabini, leaning against the wall beside him.  "Off to breakfast?" he queried, his normally impassive face breaking into something resembling a grin.

            Draco nodded and continued stalking down the hall, Blaise at his side.  Draco glanced over at him and noted the quasi-smile hovering around his lips.  "You've heard, then?"

            Zabini nodded, half-grin growing into a full fledged leer.  "It's too good to be true.  Not unexpected, though… although if _I'd _been turned into a fairy, I'd have done much more than just casting the lot of them into a coma."

            Draco snickered in agreement, pleasant visions dancing their way through his head.  "Disembowelment, more like," he said dreamily.

            "Or decapitation," Zabini continued gleefully.

            "Or castration!"

            "Or dismemberment!"

            The boys sighed wistfully, staring off into space.  "Ah, well," said Draco, snapping himself out of his pleasant reverie.  "The Gryffindors are comatose, and all is well in the world."    

            "Ye-es…" Blaise said slowly, "although it _will_ be rather boring without them to harass.  The Hufflepuffs are too crybaby-ish, and the Ravenclaws just don't care.  But it's always enjoyable to get a rise out of the Gryffindors."

            Draco blinked, a small frown flitting over his face.  He'd never thought about it that way before…  And now that he did, he had to admit that Blaise was right.  His day pretty much _revolved_ around abusing Harry Potter, watching those forest green eyes flare  with deeply rooted fury, exposing the bitter, antagonistic side of the 'Boy Savior' that only _he _could unleash…

            But he was getting carried away.  Draco tugged uncomfortably at his collar where his neck had grown oddly warm.  _Just shows how much I hate him_, Draco told himself with grim satisfaction.  

            "True," he shrugged, keeping his voice cynically light, striding through the doorway to the Great Hall, "but it'll be a pleasant change not to have all those Gryffindor mudblood-lovers swarming about.  _And_ we won't have any classes today, what with all of the teachers turning into broomsticks and pigs."

            Draco smirked as he surveyed the room.  The Gryffindor table was beautifully silent, and the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were severely depleted.  The students at _those_ tables were pale and wary, eyes darting uneasily about, as if they were expecting Snape to jump out of their oatmeal.  But as to the _Slytherin _table… completely untouched.  

            The pair paused in the doorway, surveying the student body with obvious delight.  Blaise indicated the Slytherin table with his head, sneering, "Ah, favoritism is a wonderful thing."

            Draco cocked his head to the side, gray eyes catching the light.  "I don't know about that," he said slowly, suddenly becoming serious, "I did some reading yesterday.  Apparently, when this spell is performed incorrectly, the subject tries to fish people out of their little lands of denial.  And _we_, I think, are the most honest about ourselves.  We know we're evil, been there, done that.  We know all of our faults and strengths and we're _honest_ about them.  There's nothing for Snape to change about us."

            Blaise slowly raised one eyebrow, staring at Draco with vague surprise.  "You _do _realize that you sound like _Granger_, don't you, Malfoy?  What are you, a closet nerd?"

            Draco immediately bristled, flaring with anger, and whipped about to shoot him a particularly scathing remark, but Blaise was already coolly striding off towards the Slytherin table, completely ignoring him.  Draco breathed heavily through his nose, gray eyes narrowing to furious slits as he watched Zabini's receding back.

            How _dare_ he compare _him_, a MALFOY, with that _mudblood_??  Especially _Granger!!_  He seethed, stomach coiling into a tight knot, digging his nails into his palms.  His steps rigid with anger, he strode into the Great Hall, stalking straight into the center of the room on his way to the Slytherin table, fury welling in a tense, bitter wave through his throat.

             He had a perfectly acidic remark for Blaise poised on the edge of his tongue, and was rolling the sound of it about in his mouth, relishing in its Draco-ness, when it began.  It was barely noticeable at first, just the merest shadow of a tremor rolling through the flagstones beneath his feet.  And then it swelled into a grumbling roar, the ground jarring beneath the soles of his feet, and students looked up in surprise as cutlery began to dance and rattle rigidly over tabletops as the trembling grew.  

Draco, fiercely aggravated by this new development, swore loudly as he tried to navigate his way across a floor that seemed to be attempting to do the salsa, the tremors so violent now that he could feel the reverberations jolting through his bones.  

Draco gasped as he suddenly lost his footing and crashed to the jolting ground, the breath knocked forcefully from his lungs.  The grumbling roar grew beneath him as he quickly tried to scramble to his feet, but he was jostled so violently he could barely crawl to his knees before being thrown to the ground again.

The groan of stone grating against stone filled his ears, and he stared in horror as the ground beneath him began to strain and crumble.  Vaguely, a small part of his mind registered screaming and panicked figures rushing away from him, but the large part of his mind was focused on the fact that the floor beneath him was _disintegrating._  With a strangled yell, he scrambled backwards, but with another grating moan, a bulge pressed up from the ground and smashed through the flagstones.  A huge protrusion of rock, almost taller than Draco himself (who prided himself on being quite tall), burst from beneath him and bore a loudly cursing and thrashing Draco upwards, shards of stone rattling frantically from its sides and raining on the ground below.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the commotion ceased.  Draco clutched at the rock, gasping for breath, his usually immaculate blond hair falling into his eyes, as he dizzily tried to reorient himself.  He was staring at a sea of gaping faces; his own face, even though he was lying down, was around level with theirs as they shifted and stared several yards away from him.  The Slytherins were staring at him, askance, horrified that Snape would actually attack _him_, his established favorite.

After taking several moments to get a hold on himself, Draco regained his bravado, and snorted and rolled his eyes at them, gingerly picking himself up and dusting off his robes.  He tried to keep the wobbling down to a minimum.  He would never have admitted it, but the experience had left him rather jarred.  Trying to regain a certain level of suavity, he smoothed back his hair and drawled, "Oh, alas, I am in such pain.  This rock is just _terrifying._  Come on, Snape, you can do better than this; where's my knight in shining armor?  Aren't I guaranteed one of those in these Muggle-crap delusions?"

Suddenly, a silver flash whistled sharply past his ear, and with a grating slash, lodged into the rock behind him.  The snickers of amusement that had sprung up at his speech quickly turned to gasps of alarm as faces paled and fingers pointed behind him.  Raising an eyebrow, Draco whirled around, and froze.  There before him, embedded deeply into the stone, was a long, gleaming sword, its golden hilt glowing richly in the sunlight that streamed from the enchanted ceiling.  Draco felt his breath catch in his throat, remembering exactly _how_ close that sword had come to his face.

"I asked for the knight, not the sword," Draco said weakly, taking a step back.

            He was about to jump off the rock and get the hell out of there when suddenly, the inscription on the side of the sword caught his eye.  Curiosity piqued, he hesitated, and then leaned forward, squinting to read the faint, spidery tracery of gold etched into the sword.  It wavered oddly before his vision, the words nearly undecipherable.  He grabbed the hilt of the sword to steady himself as he knelt, pushing his face closer to the sword in an effort to see better.

            This was a bad, bad idea that Draco would bemoan for days to come.

            The sharp clang of iron was what first jerked his concentration away from trying to decipher the slender script flowing over the blade.  And iron band had clamped itself around the part of the hilt he wasn't holding.  Nonplussed, Draco stared at it, and at the flow of links that suddenly grew from it.  It wasn't until the chain lashed around his wrist that he began to become alarmed.

            "WHAT THE HELL?!?!  GET _OFF_ OF ME!!!!" he bellowed, clawing at the iron chain that writhed like a snake as it bit further into his skin.  Suddenly, the portion of iron that clasped his writs glowed faintly, and then solidified.  

            He was latched to the sword.

            His jaw dropped in disbelief.  He was too horrified to even let loose the stream of expletives that thundered through his head.

            He was _latched_ to the _sword._

            His horror-struck eyes drifted downwards, taking in the fact that the vague weave of gold on the blade's surface, previously barely discernible as writing, had now suddenly solidified into bold letters he could now make out.  It read:

            _HA!  HA!  SUCKER!!_

            And below that:

            _Whosoever pulleth this blade from this stone shall be proclaimed the true love of Draco Lucius Malfoy._

            Now _that_ snapped Draco back into himself.  "WHAT?!?!?" he howled, "I DON'T EVEN _BELIEVE_ IN TRUE LOVE!!!!"  He spat out the last two words as if they were poison, face contorting furiously.  "WHAT THE FUCK DOES SNAPE THINK HE'S DOING!!?!"

            He yanked viciously at the chain, straining and throwing all of his weight onto it, but it didn't give.  He even whipped out his wand and blasted it with curse after curse, but all he managed to do was give his wrist a nice set of lazily waving tentacles.  

Charming. 

When he looked up again, exhausted and severely pissed off, he saw that the entire Great Hall was deserted, the students having rapidly surged out as soon as Draco had whipped out his wand.  Draco was rather notorious for his talent with hexes.  

He slumped against the sword, banging his head repeatedly against the rock.  He wanted to die.

Well, at least Potter wasn't around to see him like this...

~*~*~*~*~*~

            Harry wiped his raw hands on his tattered excuse for an apron, sighing with exhausted relief as he scanned the heap of dinner plates he had just cleaned.  _Finally,_ after another full day of work, he was done for the night.

            Not for the first time, Harry wondered why the house elves didn't just use their elf magic to clean up the plates.  He had a nasty feeling that Snape had designed this spell specifically to torture him with plate-washing.  He certainly wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

            He staggered over to the far corner, cradling his throbbing hands, and was about to tumble in an exhausted heap into the pile of blankets that constituted as his bed, when a house elf prodded insistently at his thigh.  

            "_What?"_ he snapped, a bit more brusquely than he had intended, but he was just so tired...

            The little elf held a warm plate of food in his hands, and he held it up to Harry, gesturing for him to take it.  "Dobby says Potterella take plate to Great Hall!" he squeaked before scurrying off.

            Harry blinked down at it, confused.  It was nine o'clock at night... the dining hall had closed an hour ago.  And why couldn't they just magically transport it up there?

            Harry sighed unhappily, trying to keep his weariness at bay, and trudged towards the painting/door at the other side of the kitchen.

            He might as well just get it over with...

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Fairytale Count:**

            *Sword in the Stone

            *Annoying Disney animal (hey, it counts!  The bird Draco blasted could very well 

  be one of those twittery things from Snow White)


	5. Singing fish

Yahoo!  Finally, chapter 5 is up… sorry about the delay.  X_X  My fault for being a lazy bum. But thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!!! You're lovely people.  And thanks for all the suggestions, too- I'll see if I can squeeze some of them in there.  ^_^ All right, on with the story- Chapter 5 

**Day One**

            Hermione yawned, rubbing the fog from her eyes as she and Ron stumbled through the empty halls.  The hazy gray pre-dawn light washed the passage, turning everything to muted tones that blurred and wavered before their eyes.  

            She had woken a cranky and sleep-dazed Ron up at five that morning, even though they hadn't gone to sleep until 11:30 the night before.  She knew they had to get an early start and be well on their way before the school began to stir into life; they didn't want anyone asking questions.  And plus, it was probably better to face a dragon when there weren't other students around that could be flattened or set on fire or whatnot...

            Hermione blinked, suddenly jolting into full consciousness.  Dragon... up to that moment, she had almost forgotten about it...

            _How were they supposed to fight a dragon?!?!_

            She abruptly froze in the middle of the hall, causing Ron to run smack dab into her with a stifled oath.  A nearby suit of armor snickered.

            "Wha's wrong?" Ron mumbled, pushing his tousled hair from sleepy eyes.  

            Hermione didn't hear him.  She was lost in a horrified daze, visions of looming Norberts towering over her, steely jaws spewing wreaths of flame...

            "...ione!!  _Hermione!!"   _

            "What?!  Who?!  Where's the dragon?!?!"

            "What are you talking about?  You spaced out on me.  I _told you we should have slept more..."_

            "Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped, running shaking hands through her hair.  "I… I need to think."

            Ron, thoroughly affronted by her sharpness but too tired to do anything about it, merely scowled and slumped mutinously against the wall, glaring at a painting of a shrieking princess whose hair was being used as a ladder by a rather porky looking prince.  Ron winced sympathetically.  That had _got to hurt._

            Meanwhile, Hermione paced back and forth, eyes wild.  She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to collect herself.  They had to face the dragon, and actually _defeat_ it, not just get past it as Harry had had to do fourth year.  How on _earth_ could two scrawny fifteen year olds defeat a full grown, fuming dragon?

            Panicking, she ran lists of spells through her mind, gathering and sorting them as she tried to think of the best way to defeat it.  

            "Hermione, _what is the matter?" Ron snapped exasperatedly.  "You're driving me up the wall!  We've been sitting here for the past ten minutes and you've done nothing but pace around and mutter to yourself.  Are you going to tell me what's going on any time soon?"_

            Hermione froze, staring at him, suddenly realizing that she hadn't told him the full story of Sleeping Beauty.  A guilty flush overcame her and she quickly dropped her gaze to her feet.  Ron must be feeling even more on edge than she was, not even knowing what they were going up against, and here she was, biting his head off.  

Fully repentant, she quickly gave him an abridged version of the story, Ron interrupting sharply as she reached the part about the dragon.  He sat up straight, staring at her with wide eyes.

            "_Oh."  He paled considerably beneath his freckles, mouth tightening into a thin line.  "So that's what you were freaking out about.  We have to get past a __dragon.  Well… how do they defeat it in the story?"_

            Hermione threw her hands in the air, resuming her edgy pacing.  "Umm… well... the prince throws the sword at the dragon's heart, and it pierces it and the dragon dies.  But _we_ can't do that; we don't have a sword!  Even if we _did_, I doubt that either of us would be able to aim that well..."

            She trailed off and blinked as Ron suddenly stood up and strode over to the suit of armor that had snickered at them a while back.  It gave a rusty shriek of protest as Ron pried its sword from its gauntleted hand, hefting it with some difficulty and dragging it across to Hermione.  He held it up before her and raised his eyes, and said very slowly as if addressing the very young or mentally unstable, "_Accuracy spell_."

            Hermione blinked at him.  "Oh," was all she could come up with, suddenly feeling very small and embarrassed, a prick of heat sparking on the back of her neck.  Ron smirked at her, and she felt a wave of annoyance fill her, accompanied by another odd, prickling sensation she couldn't quite identify.  It wasn't a _bad feeling, but somehow it just made her even more annoyed..._

            "Stop looking so smug, Ron Weasley, you look like one of Lockhart's pixies," she snapped, sweeping up the spiral staircase that took them to the upper levels.  Still smirking, Ron followed after her, the sword grating over the stone floor.

            By the time they reached the top floor, the smirk was gone, and he was panting with exhaustion, sweat trickling unpleasantly down the back of his neck.  Doubled over with effort, he dragged himself onto the landing, and after Hermione's striding form, already halfway down the hall.

            "Come _on, Ron," she called, running lightly up the last flight of stairs that took them to the Tower.  Wheezing unhappily, he trotted after her, and they stood side by side, staring at the door to the Astronomy Tower._

            Hermione drew a deep breath, planting one hand firmly on the wooden panel.  "Well.  Here we go."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Ginny woke up with a jolt, completely disoriented.  She stared for several seconds at the waving green canopy over her head, blinking tiredly.  

            _Wait… the curtains of my bed are RED…_

            With a shriek of alarm, she jolted upright, her ginger hair flying in a cloud of red around her face.  

            She was in a tree.

            Why was she in a tree??

            Wait…  Snape….  Fat Lady… Hagrid… lake.  

Oh, yeah.  

Carefully, she pulled herself into a more comfortable position and looked around.  A waving sea of grass stretched out not too far below her, and the lake glowed a dull blue to her left, the far edges shimmering into a blinding white as it caught the light of the rising sun.  

She yawned, raking a hand through her tousled hair.  "Neville, we should probably get ba…  Neville?"

She blinked.  The tree was empty.  

A prick of apprehension grew in her as she looked around.  Where could he have gone?  Wouldn't he have woken her up before he'd gone anywhere?

She stood up gingerly, grabbing a nearby branch to steady herself and was beginning to scout out the landscape around her for signs of him when the water in the lake began to ripple.

She didn't pay any attention to it at first, figuring it was the squid scouting around for some breakfast.  But the disturbance in the water steadily increased, until the ripples grew into rather violent crashing waves.  Alarmed, Ginny clutched tighter onto the branch and leaned out to see what was going on…

The surface of the river suddenly broke.  A huge rock jutted out from nowhere, protruding from the middle of the lake, waves crashing violently around it, pounding into a spray of mist.  The wind whipped some of the water into Ginny's face, and she could have _sworn_ it was salty, but that didn't make sense… this was a freshwater lake…

That was when she heard the singing.  Somehow clearly audible over the crashing waves, a horribly off key voice warbled in the distance.  But there wasn't anyone nearby…

The waves began reaching their crescendo, blasting into entire walls of icy water.  And suddenly from their midst a figure surged, straight onto the rock, the enormous waves framing the tiny figure.  It clutched at the rock, howling, "…ere they WALK, up where they RUN, up where they STAY all day in the SUUUNNN…"

Ginny goggled, her mouth dropping open.  The mist was getting in her eyes, so she couldn't see well, but she was _sure_ she had seen fins… a singing fish??

Violently rubbing the moisture from her eyes, she shook her head and squinted into the distance.  No, she hadn't been mistaken- the figure sported a healthy set of shimmering green fins.  But it wasn't a fish.

It was _Neville._

~*~*~*~*~*~

            Before she could stop him, Ron had hefted the sword and gone charging into the room.

            "Stay here, Hermione!  I can take care of-"

            But that was all he had to say.

            Because the next second, he was gone.

            Hermione stared, frozen in the doorway.  "Ron?" she whispered, surprised at how tremulous and distant her voice sounded.  A second ago, he had been right there, his face red with exertion and the sword swung out before him.  But once he had dashed over the threshold, he had just… vanished.

            The Astronomy Tower was deathly silent.  The dome arched high overhead, and the telescope stood dark and silent in the center of the room, aimed towards the sky.  But there was no Ron, no dragon… it was completely empty.   __

            Biting her lip, she latched her hand around her wand, and after a deep, stabilizing breath, she stepped into the room. 

            The ground suddenly sifted beneath her feet, like grains of sand blown by the wind, and colors blurred and merged together until the room dissolved into a whirl of dizzying light.  Before she could react, though, the light faded and solid earth slammed into the soles of her feet.  With a shriek, she overbalanced and tripped, still half-blinded by the light.  With a dull thump, she landed on top of something soft, warm, and with a very colorful vocabulary.  

            "Ron!" she gasped in relief, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.  Awkwardly, she disentangled herself from him and flung her arms around his neck.  "Thank goodness… you just _disappeared…_ Ron, are you all right?"

            He heaved himself into sitting position, face flushed an odd shade of purplish-crimson.  "I'm fine," he muttered, refusing to meet her eyes, and swatted at her hands.  Hermione blinked and flushed, realizing her arms were still around her neck.  She quickly let go as if she had been burned, and stumbled to her feet.  Ron slowly followed suit, using his sword for leverage.  He blinked as he took in their surroundings, confusion darkening his brown eyes.  "Where are we?" he said slowly, his hand unconsciously tightening around the sword's hilt.

            They were standing ankle-deep in a sea of blindingly green grass, stretching off as far as the eye could see into an equally blinding blue sky.  The air was heavily laden with a thick stillness, a suppressed watchfulness that set his hairs on end.  He felt as if countless eyes were fixed on them, watching their every move…

            He whirled around, but the doorway was gone.  Just grass.  And more grass.  And oh, did he mention?  There was grass.

            "Hermione, where are we?" he hissed, "Is this some kind of trap?"

            "No.  I think we're exactly where we need to be."

            Ron turned, staring at her in surprise.  Her voice had acquired a steely tone and she was staring determinedly into the distance, eyes blazing and fists clenched.  He followed her gaze and blinked as a tower suddenly came into view in the distance.  Had that been there before…??  He shook his head, sighing.  "So you think Lavender and Seamus are in there?"

            "They are," she said tersely, chin up.  "Give me the sword, Ron."  
  


            Ron gaped at her.  "_What?"_

            "_Give it to me," she hissed, "I am going to make this person _very_ sorry they ever messed with me."_

Woah.  Accelerate into Dangerous Hermione mode!  He knew better than to stand in her way when she used that tone of voice.  Still, he wasn't sure that giving her a sharp object when she was in this mood was such a good thing. 

            As she clenched her fist around the hilt and stalked menacingly towards the tower, he nervously maintained a safe distance, wondering what could have put her in such a bad mood.  But as they neared their destination, he began to see why.

            Before, he had only given the tower a perfunctory glance, just looking at it long enough to reassure himself he wasn't seeing things.  But now, he could see what was making Hermione so angry.  What had seemed at first to be a black cloud hovering at the base of the tower he now saw was really something of a graveyard.  Well, at least to Hermione it would be a graveyard.  A tangled maze of sharpened book spines protruded from the ground, menacing and lethal as thorns.  

            Right now, he was _not_ envying whoever it was they were going up against.  Because they were going to get their butt kicked, Hermione style.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            "_NEVILLE!!!!_" 

            Ginny had abandoned her spot in the tree, and was now darting around on the shore of the lake, jumping up and down, trying to get Neville's attention.  So far, it wasn't working.

            "...wish I could BE, part of your WOOOOORRRRRLLLLDDDD!!!!!"

            Her voice faltered as Neville's voice shrieked to a crescendo.  She halted, ignoring the waves splashing icy water into her shoes, and held her hair away from her face, staring as the waves surged upwards, and then suddenly died down, receding to a sullen mass of ripples.  Neville, looking dazed, sank down against the rock, his previous... enthusiasm... suddenly deserting him.

            Even from so far away, Ginny distinctly heard a bewildered, "What in Merlin's name was THAT?"

            "NEVILLE!" Ginny tried again, and this time he heard her, looking up with an expression of shock.

            "GINNY!"  His voice was giddy with relief and he waved frantically at her.  "Is that you?  You have to help me!!  I have FINS!  Look!  FINS!  And I keep having sudden urges to break into song!  I think Snape got me!"

            Ginny clutched at her hair, a nervous habit of hers, her face turning white with worry as she faltered uncertainly on the shore.  "What should I do?" she called, voice wavering, "Anyone who would be able to fix this has already been cursed by Snape!"

            Neville banged his head against the rock.  "You mean I have to STAY like this??  I have FINS!!!!"

            Ginny had opened her mouth to snap that yes, she was aware of this, when something suddenly shot out of the water.  Neville turned, crying out in alarm and scuttling awkwardly backwards as the squid abruptly surfaced directly behind him.  Its tentacles splashed lazily around it, its dark, fleshy skin glowing eerily in the morning light.  And... it was wearing a crown.

            "HEY!  YOU THERE!" the squid bellowed, jabbing one tentacle in Neville's direction.  

            Neville cowered, huddling against the rock, wishing for all the world that he was tucked snugly in his bed back in Hogwarts, safe and sound, and NOT facing down gigantic members of aquatic royalty.  "Y-you c-can talk?"

            "YES, YOU FOOL!!  NOW LISTEN TO ME!  DO YOU WANT YOUR LEGS BACK OR WHAT??"

            Neville immediately straightened.  Although he was still apprehensive, and not a little nervous, his eyes took on that patented I-am-a-Gryffindor-and-I-spit-in-the-general-direction-of-fear look.  "You can make me normal again?"

            "YES!  IN FACT, I WILL GIVE YOU THIRTY FREE DAYS OF TERRESTRIAL ROAMING, BUT IN THAT TIME SPAN YOU MUST FIND YOUR ONE AND ONLY TRUE LOVE.  CAPEESH?  CAPEESH." 

            (A/N:  Yes- the time span was changed to thirty for a reason.  Trust me on this. ^^) 

            And with that, before Neville could move, protest, or even blink, he found himself back on shore, legs intact.  

            Neville had never been more happy to see his legs in his life.

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Fairytale Count:**

            *The Little Mermaid

Well, there goes chapter five.  Hope you enjoyed!  More Harry/Draco next chapter, mwahaha! 


	6. Hunger Pangs

Yes, _finally_, chapter 6 is up.  Wahoo!  Thanks for being so patient with me.  And thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!  You rock my socks.  

So, there's finally some Harry/Draco interaction.  ^_^ 

**Chapter 6**

**Day One**

            Harry's feet were dragging by the time he finally made it to the Great Hall.  He had tried to run off to the Gryffindor Tower at least five times already, but each time some force field-type thing stopped him.  Evidently, even mentally imbalanced fairy godmothers knew how stubborn he was...

            With a sigh, he readjusted his grip on the plate of steaming food, and dejectedly made his way to the doorway, apprehensively wondering what, exactly, he would find there.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            Draco was bored.

            Draco was I-have-been-stranded-on-a-rock-for-thirteen-hours-bored.

            Sure, the wide berth he'd been given at first had been great, refreshing… but after a while… not so much.  Of course, there _had been a slight diversion when a stream of girls (and surprisingly, several males) began cautiously approaching the sword, trying to see if they could yank it out.  Draco'd had fun taunting them as they strained at the stubborn hunk of steel, but had begun to grow alarmed when the throng began steadily growing.  Apparently, he was _popular_ among the student body.  Who would have thought?  Anyways, when the numbers grew too unbearable, he whipped out his wand and blasted a few curses here or there.  Now __that had been entertaining.  A full five minutes of mass chaos.  And Dumbledore had been too busy chasing his geese and adjusting his bonnet to do anything about it…_

            But now he was bored.  And _hungry._

            …wait.  Was that… food he smelled?

            No, no.  He was delirious.  He was hallucinating.  There was no food.  Stop tormenting yourself, dammit!

            ….

            FOOD!!

            Pattering footsteps moved slowly, _too_ slowly, towards the hall, and the aroma of freshly grilled steak, mashed potatoes, and other assorted very nice-smelling foodstuffs wafted towards him, making his hollow stomach grumble in an annoyed fashion.  Draco leaned eagerly towards the entryway, as far as his chain would let him, eyes lighting up for the first time since he'd given Hannah Abbot green horns nine hours earlier.  Hells, he was hungry…

            He immediately lost his appetite when Harry Potter rounded the corner.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            "YOU."  Harry spluttered in horror, nearly choking in shock as he stepped sharply back.  Draco looked similarly disgusted, but this time his expression was mixed with a tinge of… fear?  Was THE Draco Malfoy _afraid of him?_

*_We shall now take a  quick glance into the mind of Draco Malfoy*_

_            Oh hells.  Potter has the food.  POTTER!  HAS MY FOOD!  HE'LL NEVER GIVE ME WHAT'S RIGHTFULLY MINE!  AUGGHH!!!!  …God, I want that food.  Don't look hungry, Draco, don't look hungry… fuck.  I hate my stomach and all its… growliness.  Fuckfuckfuck.  He's staring at the sword.  I am never going to live this down._

_            ...._

_            WHY DOES POTTER HAVE THE FOOD!  ARGGHH!!!_

_*Exit mind of Draco Malfoy* _

            … and why was he chained to a rock?

            "Why are YOU here?" Harry hissed as he began to regain control over himself.  "And what's up with the chains?  Have the higher-ups finally come to their senses and restrained you?"

            Draco's eyes narrowed.  This was something of a surprise to Harry- normally, Malfoy would just brush his comment away like so much dust and counter with a snide remark concerning his appearance/parentage/friends, but today… he was agitated.  Definitely at the end of his rope… or should he say, chain?

            Harry snickered to himself.  Draco grew increasingly affronted.  "Just… shut up, Potter, and give me the food," he snapped, teeth clenching.  His eyes were now locked on the plate of food, and he slowly moved away from the sword, which he'd embarrassedly tried to cover when Harry had entered.  

            The black-haired boy blinked innocently.  "What, this?" he asked carelessly, waving the plate around.  _Finally!_  He had power over Draco Malfoy!  Harry felt like dancing.

            Draco, on the other hand, seemed to be teetering on the edge of a fit of apoplexy.  Suddenly, he whipped out his wand and opened his mouth to shout a spell, but Harry interrupted him, tutting patronizingly.  "Now, Malfoy, you should know better than that!  If you try the Accio spell on the plate, the food will just spill everywhere, and we wouldn't want that, would we?  Now, if you were only a _little more polite, __may-be I would consider giving it to you…" _

            Draco looked purely murderous.  For a moment, Harry thought he wouldn't concede, but then he clenched his fists, looked down (if looks could kill, Draco would now be standing on a pile of rubble instead of a boulder), and mumbled something under his breath.

            "What was that?" Harry sang, "I couldn't hear you, speak up."

            "I SAID, PLEASE!!!  PLEASE, ALL RIGHT?!?!?!  PLEASE GIVE ME THE FUCKING FOOD!!!" Draco howled, his voice echoing and bouncing around the walls, so thunderous that Harry took a step back, eyes widened.  He hesitated, suddenly not exactly sure that he wanted to approach Malfoy when he was in such a… deranged state of mind.  

            …but Malfoy _had_ said please, and Harry's Gryffindor-ic sensibilities wouldn't let him back down on his word…

            With a sigh, he cautiously made his way over to his arch-nemesis, the plate clenched tightly in his hands.  Malfoy immediately pounced once Harry got into range, snatching the food out of his hands without a word of thanks and hastily setting about devouring it.  As disgusted as Harry was at being in such close range to the person he hated most, he still couldn't help being vaguely amused by the fact that Malfoy still managed to look coolly dignified when demolishing a slab of steak.  Of course, he wouldn't have expected any less from the self-centered, egotistical git…

            Harry suddenly found himself smiling fondly.  He was alarmed.  Very alarmed.

            The work overload was getting to his head… yeah, that was it.

            Feeling rather sickened and highly disconcerted, he snapped, "Hurry up, will you?  I want to go to sleep, I've had a long day."

            Predictably, Malfoy slowed down considerably, leering at Harry as he leisurely bit into a piece of meat.  Snarling with irritation, Harry turned sharply about so he was facing AWAY from the golden haired Satan spawn, and instead facing the door…

            …which had somehow slammed shut without his notice.

            He gaped.  Draco, apparently, had noticed too, because a clatter of fallen cutlery had registered in the part of his mind that _wasn't_ occupied with freaking out.

            "He locked us in!" Harry howled, looking fit to burst.  "Snape is a SADIST, I tell you, A SADIST!!!"  

            Draco buried his head in his hands, snarling, "What in the seven levels of hell did I do to deserve this?"

            Harry spun around, eyes blazing.  "Well, let's see," he hissed, face flushed with frustration and anger.  "One, you're a git.  Two, y-"

            "I don't need this from you right now, Potter," Draco said coldly, picking up his plate of food and resuming his meal.  "Yes, I'm a gorgeous, god-like prick, now get over it."

            Harry gaped disbelievingly at his arch-nemesis, his jaw swinging loosely on its hinges.  Draco continued picking coolly at his dinner, flatly ignoring him.

            The emerald-eyed boy buried his head in his hands.  "I don't believe this," he muttered, "You're a nutcase, you know that?"

            Draco considered this, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he chewed on a potato.  "You know, I think I prefer 'deranged evil genius.'  Has a better ring to it."

            Much to Harry's chagrin, he couldn't suppress a smile at this, but lost no time in turning it into a disgruntled scowl.

            "I hate you," he muttered.

            Draco arched an eyebrow.  "Losing your touch, Potter.  That was terribly weak.  I think I may have to search for a new arch-nemesis if that's the best you c- hey!  What do you think you're doing?!    This is _my_ rock!"

            Harry hopped agilely onto the stone, completely ignoring the irritated blonde.  While Draco had been ranting, his eyes had drifted to the sword and were caught by a faint glimmer of gold shimmering beneath the hilt of the Slytherin's sword.  Curiosity piqued, he crouched before it and peered at the thin tracery of writing.

            By the time Draco registered what the Gryffindor was doing, it was too late; as he angrily sprang to his feet and lunged at Harry, the dark-haired boy gave an ear-splitting whoop of laughter and leaped out of arm's reach.  

            "_True love_?  TRUE LOVE?!?"  Apparently, Harry found the pairing of the words 'Draco Malfoy' and 'true love' in the same sentence to be terribly amusing.  

            Draco was never going to live this down.

            Very much aware of this fact, the blonde pushed several errant strands of gold from his face (this agitated him even more- his gel was wearing off) and snapped icily, "As delighted as I am that I have brought joy and laughter into your life, I'd be most grateful if you'd KINDLY SHUT IT!!"

            The abruptness of the last shouted phrase quite effectively startled Harry into 'shutting it,' so he spent the next few seconds attempting to compose himself, clutching at his sides and hiccupping weakly, a huge grin still plastered over his face.  Draco blinked, and a thought struggled its way through the jarring, edgy sea of irritation buzzing in his mind: that lopsided grin made Potter look absolutely adora… 

            Uhh… idiotic.  Yeah.

            "So, did Snape do this to you then?"

            Draco blinked again, surprised that Potter hadn't snatched up the opportunity to turn the entire situation into a riotous taunt-fest.  He knew that would be what _he'd_ be doing in Potter's shoes.

            Idiot Gryffindor.

            Recovering enough from his surprise (none of which had crept onto his face, of course) to come out with a decent answer, he drawled sardonically, "Oh, how observant of you, Potter.  Fifty points to Gryffindor.  I always knew there had to be _some _speck of intelligence in that inflated head of yours…"

            Much to Draco's chagrin, Harry ignored the jibe, (which, he had to mournfully admit to himself, _was _rather weak… what was wrong with his Wit-o-Meter today?!?) merely sweeping a hand through his rumpled hair and staring at him thoughtfully.  "But why would Snape chain _you_ up?" he inquired slowly, confusion creeping into his face, "Aren't you his little lapdog?  He always croons and fawns over _you." _

            "Jealous, Potter?" Draco shot back archly.  When Harry spluttered, red-faced, and opened his mouth to snap at him, Draco smoothly swept on, talking over him.  "The thing is, Potter, Severus has a thing with bondage.  Chains _are kinky, you know…"_

            Harry gave a choked gargle of horror at this and flushed pure vermillion.  Leaping frantically away from the snickering blonde, he stumbled, spluttering, "You… you mean… you… with _SNAPE??!?  You…"  At this point, Harry's mind seemed to go into overload, and he merely emitted garbled ejaculations of horror._

            Draco, unable to control himself any longer, burst into howls of derisive laughter, sitting with a 'thump' down on the rock and clutching at his sides.  Between spasms of mirth, he sneered, "I knew you were thick, Potter, but this just takes the cake."

            Flushing to an even deeper shade of magenta, Harry narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists, teeth bared.  "That wasn't _funny, Malfoy," he hissed, inwardly still reeling with horrified shock at the images Malfoy's calm statement had conjured.  _

            "Oh, it most certainly was," Draco snickered, his laughter dying down.  "That was priceless.  Too bad I didn't have a camera…"

            Harry clenched his fists, raking his hand through his hair once more.  He tended to mess with his hair when he was aggravated, making it even messier than usual.  Angrily, he opened his mouth to snap back at the blonde, but Malfoy coolly talked over him.  Again.  

            "Well, it seems it's your lucky day, Potter.  I'm bored.  Bored enough to attempt to shove some knowledge into that thick, bloated skull of yours.  And so, if you _must know why I am now chained to this rock…"_

            With that, Malfoy began calmly explaining the 'denial' factor of Snape's spell.  Harry's temper slowly died down as he listened to Draco clearly lay out the intricacies of the spell, amazed that Draco Malfoy could be so… _intelligent._  He'd always assumed that every inch of that golden-blonde head was crammed with insults and blind, petty hatred.  But as he listened to the Slytherin speak, it dawned on Harry how little he knew of his arch-nemesis.  He'd always been just a two-dimensional fairytale villain to him; in his mind, Draco was firmly cemented in his role as 'snivelling evil little git.'  Were there more sides of Malfoy he'd missed because of his prejudices?

            "…so that's it.  Got that, Potter?  Or was that too much for your poor little brain to take in?"

            Blinking and scrambling to recollect what Malfoy had just said, Harry shook of his sudden bout of thoughtfulness, reorienting himself.  Brushing aside the jibe, he considered this new information, slowly saying, "So… everyone affected by the spell is in denial, then.  What are _you_ in denial about?"

            Draco rolled his eyes.  "_Love, apparently," he spat, gesturing angrily towards the sword.  "Don't know what the hell Snape's thinking, chaining me up like this… as if __I  would ever be weak enough to __love someone…"  There was a short pause as Draco's rant trailed off, and he eyed Harry thoughtfully, his trademark smirk slowly spreading across his face.  "I think I know why _you're _here, though."  _

            Harry's eyebrows shot into the fringe of his hair.  "Oh, do tell me, O Source of All Knowledge," Harry deadpanned, voice completely flat.  Draco ignored him.

            "You're here because you chose Gryffindor."

            Now _that hadn't been expected.  Harry blinked, completely at a loss for words.  _

            "You look flabbergasted, Potter.  Let me explain.  The day you turned down my friendship was the day you turned your back on true greatness."

            …was it just Harry's imagination, or did Draco sound _bitter??  Had his offer of friendship actually been sincere?  _

            ….

            No.  _No!!  _Of course not!  What was he thinking?!  Malfoy had proved over and over again what a conniving little weasel he was.  He didn't _want_ to be his friend.  He had done the right thing, turning his back on him six years ago.  

            A sudden burst of hot anger shot through him as memories of Draco's past stunts swarmed to the forefront of his mind.  He focused on that anger, drawing on it for strength, and struggled to crush the small, niggling fear that what Draco was about to say was the truth.  

            "Oh, yes, Malfoy," Harry snapped acidly, bursting into uncharacteristic venom.  "How _stupid of me, to completely miss the fact that your 'friendship' is the key to 'true greatness!!'  How could I have been so _BLIND?!  _Please forgive me." _

            Malfoy eyed him coldly, his expression not changing in the slightest.  "I'm not talking about _me, you nimrod, I'm talking about your rejection of what I represent.  Your rejection of what you could have achieved if you'd accepted it.  But _no, _instead you had to throw away everything that was offered to you and wrap yourself in those Gryffindoric _lies_."_

            The blonde's voice turned to pure venom as he spoke, grey eyes steely and unyielding.  Harry froze under his gaze, each word he spoke like a punch in the gut.  He nervously wondered how on earth Malfoy could have known about his argument with the Sorting Hat.  

            "You could have been in Slytherin.  You-"

            "Yes, I _could have!!  But I…"_

            "But you chose not to," Draco said calmly, "which is exactly my point.  These idiotic _morals_ of yours are preventing you from ever becoming anything great.  You chose Gryffindor, and now there's nothing for you to do but fade away.  You'll become something symbolic, something everyone will look up to- but they'll only be looking up to who they THINK you are.  You're the great Harry Potter, boy wonder, _god.  You can't escape the image you've built for yourself, Harry.  You'll spend the rest of your life trying to be the hero you've created."_

            If Harry hadn't been so numb by the time Malfoy finished, he would have been shocked by the Slytherin's use of his first name.  But his words had thrown him completely off kilter, an icy lump building in the pit of his stomach.  Everything he'd just said, Harry had thought to himself at least once in the past few years, late at night when the sweat tangled sheets seemed to strangle him, and the empty, bleak darkness felt thick enough to swallow him whole…

            Those were his worst moments, feverish and nightmare ridden, thick with fear and self-doubt.  Those thoughts would hover vague and insubstantial in the back of his mind, but he'd always crush them as soon as they formed.  But now, hearing another person throw those muddled, gnawing thoughts in his face, with such cold certainty and conviction, somehow made his fears more real and whole.

            Although a part of him knew that it was all just rubbish, and that his beliefs were worth everything he'd sacrificed for them, he couldn't help feeling that Draco's prediction of his future was correct.  He _wasn't perfect, he _wasn't_ the god everyone made him out to be.  Should he have led everybody on like this?  Should he have just gone into Slytherin and sink out of the public eye, letting everyone find another, __real hero to worship?_

            "The door's open, Potter."  Draco's voice was quiet, his eyes expressionless.

            Numbly, Harry turned, and saw that he was right- some time during their argument, the door had swung open.  Blankly collecting Malfoy's plate, troubled thoughts still jostling through his head, he slowly headed towards the door, footsteps heavy.  He could feel the Slytherin's gaze burning into his back as he left.

            By the time he'd gotten halfway to the kitchen, though, his mind was clearing.  He snorted softly to himself for being such a fool, and his bearing lost its dazed, wounded slump.  Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he smiled quietly to himself.  It was true, he _wasn't _perfect- no one was.  But even though this was the case, sticking to his morals was important to him, and that meant he had to do what he could to help the wizarding community.  Slinking around and tending only to his own needs was completely against his nature and beliefs.  

            And yes, maybe he _would_ fade away, become only a fabled icon.  Maybe he'd never be able to leave his house without being bombarded for being the Boy Wonder he was not.  Maybe- and this seemed far more likely to Harry- he'd die in the battle against Voldemort, die because of the path he'd chosen.  But that was his own cross to bear, and he'd bear it gladly.

            And plus… that couldn't _possibly _be what he was in denial about!  How would turning into Cinderella make him get in touch with his Slytherin side?!

            He snorted, a small smile flitting across his face as he tiredly faced the portrait of the pair.  Their conversation had left him thoroughly drained.  But, he couldn't help thinking as he slumped into the kitchen, it had been oddly enlightening.  He was slowly beginning to realize that beneath all of those poisonous insults and invectives, there was something else to Malfoy; a something that was intelligent, witty, and terrifyingly clear-sighted.  

            And when Draco had been talking about the empty idolization his future might contain, Harry could have sworn there was heavily veiled _concern_ in his voice…

            He wondered what kind of person Draco would be if he hadn't been raised in the house of Lucius Malfoy.  It was an interesting thought.  

            But one to think about later.  He was _tired!_

~*~*~*~*~

**Fairytale Count:**

            *Mother Goose (if you missed it, there's a comment in the beginning about Dumbledore chasing his geese, etc.  Yep- he's now Mother Goose.  ^_^)

My apologies for writing such a crappy chapter... ;_;  Hopefully the next one will be less appalling.  Anyways, thanks for reading!  Review and I will love you forever.


	7. Exhaustion

Ok!  Chapter 7!  It's short, I know, but there's a reason- the chapters will be shorter from now on, so I'll be able to dish them out more quickly.  Hopefully.  X_X

Anyways, I owe my undying gratitude to everyone reading this for being so patient.  I LOVE YOU ALL!!  *worships*  I am not worthy… ;_;  Thank you so much.

**Chapter Seven**

**End of Day One**

            Hermione gave a heartfelt groan, sinking tiredly to the ground.  Ron followed close behind, sighing as he leaned against the sun-warmed stones of the castle.  It had been a long, long day.

            "Well," Hermione said after a while, voice heavy with exhaustion, "I guess we made it."

            Ron snorted.  "I guess YOU made it, you mean.  All _I did was trail behind you while you hacked those book pieces to… uhh… pieces."_

            "AHH!!  Don't even talk to me about it!" Hermione wailed, burying her head in her hands.  "A- a while back, I t-think I saw the sixth edition of- of 'An Anthology of Rare Magical Antidotes!'  Ron, do you know how _rare _that book is??"

            She sounded as if her parents were being murdered.  Ron, rather alarmed, awkwardly patted her on the head, mumbling, "Um… there, there.  Don't be sad…"

            When Hermione had more or less composed herself, (though she still wouldn't look at the wall of thorns rearing up around them) Ron continued, "I wonder why they chose book spines, though.  If they're going to make thorns, why can't they just make _normal ones?"_

            "This is Snape's mind we're trying to decipher here, Ron.  He's _twisted._  He's a _book slaughterer_!!"  She would have continued in this vein for quite a while, but Ron stopped her with a glare.  Struggling to compose herself, she dabbed at her eyes and continued (in a slightly choked voice), "But if there _was _a reason, it was probably to aggravate me ("_Aggravate??"_ Ron interrupted here, "More like drive into a blinding rage…"  Hermione just talked over him.) into using up all my strength and emotional energy, so that we can't go into the tower right away.  I'm much too drained to do anything right now except collapse.  So whoever's in there is probably using this time to set up more traps, or feed the dragon, or something of the like."  

            "More like _not feed the dragon," Ron shot back, "They'll want it to be nice and hungry when it faces us, won't they?"_

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Ron, with a brother like Charlie you would THINK that you would know by now that dragons don't eat people."

            Ron blinked.  "… I knew that.  Really, I did!!"

            Hermione snorted, and they settled into a companionable silence for several minutes, watching the sky.  The dying sun glinted off Ron's fiery hair and cast a strange, orange glow on their faces.  A sudden thought crossed Ron's mind as he stared at a particularly fluffy cloud, and he turned towards Hermione, a frown creasing his forehead.

            "Speaking of future traps," he said slowly, "what else do you think this person has in store for us?  I mean, you never told me the rest of the story.  Only up to the dragon."

               Hermione, who had been picking idly at the grass, suddenly froze.  She glanced quickly at him, and then quickly back up at the sky, her face turning several interesting shades of magenta.  

            Ron started blankly at her, vainly attempting to decipher her actions.  He couldn't.  He sighed, muttering, "_Girls."_

            Luckily for him, Hermione didn't hear him.  Wrenching up an entire clump of grass, she hastily blurted out, "After the dragon's defeated in the real story, he… well, the prince, erm… he goes into the castle where he… where he… mind you, this is only the story we're talking about, maybe Snape adjusted it for us, I don't know, but this is what happens in the story, and I really don't th…"

            "HERMIONE!!!" Ron exploded, face flushing crimson with exasperation.  Leveling her with a glare, he barked, "What's _wrong,_ for Agrippa's sake??  You neverramble like that, you're _Hermione!_  Just… just tell me what's going to happen!!"

            Ron was become more and more certain that he did _not_ want to know what was going to happen, but hey, he had to find out sometime, didn't he?  Better sooner than later.

            Hermione sighed, her eyes losing the frenzied gleam they'd held before.  Sinking back into the wall, she stared dully at her shoes.  "I'm in love with Seamus and you're in love with Lavender."

            Ron stared at her.  He stared some more.  His brain was not processing this information.  

            After several seconds of gaping, his highly intelligent response was: "Wha?"

            "It's the fairytale, you see," Hermione said wearily, dropping her head back against the castle wall with a thunk.  "The prince finds the princess in the castle, and wakes her up with a kiss.  We are the princes.  They are the princesses."

            Ron's face turned deathly white.  He tried to speak, choked, and tried again.  "I have to kiss LAVENDER???" he howled, "I'm in denial about being in love with LAVENDER????"

            "Apparently," Hermione sighed.  She looked oddly depressed, her shoulders slack and mouth tense.  She glanced quickly at him and away again, eyes clouded.

            Ron, however, had flung himself into a full-fledged fit of hysteria.  "I don't LIKE Lavender!!  I am SURE that I don't like Lavender!!  I AM NOT IN DENIAL!!!  Snape is CRACKED!!  I am NOT KISSING LAVENDER!!!"

            "Good, keep on screaming like that, Ron.  If you're loud enough, maybe you'll wake them up, and then we wouldn't have to go through all the trouble."

            Ron suddenly stopped yelling, and blinked hopefully at her.  "Would that work?"

            "NO!" Hermione snapped, curling up in a ball and facing away from him.  "Now, Ron, if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep.  I want to have my wits about me when we face the dragon tomorrow.  Goodnight."

            Ron stared blankly at her back for several seconds, taken aback by her abrupt behavior.  Shaking his head, he sighed, and nestled back into the ground.  "'Night," he responded gloomily, staring up at the sky.  Before he drifted off, he glowered at the stars and added sullenly, "And I do _not _like Lavender."

~*~*~*~*~*~

            Night fell, leaving a school in utter chaos.  Snape snickered as he pranced around Dumbledore's empty office, irritating the portraits, who were trying to sleep.  They had snapped at him, telling him to shut up and go away, but they stopped once Snape revealed that he had a Sharpie, and he damned well knew how to use it.  

            Anyways.  As I was saying, Snape was happy.  No, _ecstatic_ is more the word for it- he was practically brimming with sheer giddiness.  Everything was going swimmingly.  Well- Potter and that stubborn boy Draco had given him some problems, but that was to be expected from _them.  He was quite certain he would have them swooning and pining for each other in no time.  (Did Malfoys pine? Snape wondered.  Well, they would once HE was done with them.  BWAHAHA!!!) _

            Shrieking with delight (Snape was now receiving pointed death glares from the portraits), he skipped and twirled through the moon lit room, wings sparkling dimly.  He was going to transform Hogwarts into a pink sparkly paradise if it was the last thing he did.

            Because, hey.  Think about it.  Would Voldemort want to destroy the all-new glimmery gorgeousness of his Hogwarts?  

            No!  He wouldn't!  It would be too pretty! 

            Snape was very proud of himself.  Patting himself on the back for his brilliant thinking, he bid a cheerful goodbye to the now murderous former headmasters, and slid down the revolving stairs.

            He would start tomorrow.

~*~*~*~*~

**Fairytale Count:**

            *None!  How depressing.


	8. In Which Nothing Much Really Happens

Chapter 8!  Dished out exactly one month after the previous.  Wow.  For me, that has to be a record or something.

Okay.  Here it is:

**Chapter Eight**

**Day Two**

            It felt odd.

            Neville didn't like the yawning expanse of table stretching off to both sides of him.  It was… wrong, not seeing Ron yelling and hurling food at Harry, or Seamus cramming for a test with Dean, or the Weasley twins testing their freshest batch of Fizzle Blasters on unsuspecting first years.  The Gryffindor table was deathly silent, and he didn't like it.

            Ginny glanced sympathetically at him as he shifted uneasily in his seat.  He awkwardly tried to smile back, and spooned some cereal into his mouth.

            It was going to be a long, long month.

            "So," said Ginny after a while, "I suppose we'll try the Hufflepuffs today.  You're friends with some of them, aren't you?"

            Neville paled considerably and slowly nodded, his stomach turning to lead.  "I do, but Ginny, I don't want to do this.  I… I can't just go up to them and…"

           "Yes you _can, Neville," his red-haired companion said sternly.  She leveled him with her patented school marm gaze, and Neville quickly wilted under it.  "And you _will._  Just be grateful I'm not making you kiss them like I did yesterday."  _

            Neville choked on his cereal, dropped his spoon with a clatter and flushed pure crimson.  Several Ravenclaws snapped around and stared at him with wide eyes, as if they expected him to sprout a second head or turn into a frog.  When nothing remotely Snape-ish happened to him, they grumbled disappointedly to themselves and turned back around.  Ginny smiled serenely as Neville attempted to regain his composure. 

            Yesterday had been hell for Neville.  After he had regained use of his legs, Ginny hauled him back inside.  There had been a slight diversion when they'd been chased by a singing clock and candelabra, but eventually they made their way back to the portrait hole.  After a great deal of wheedling, bowing, and flattery, the Fat Lady-turned-maniacal Mistress of Evil let them in, where they found the entire Gryffindor population… unconscious.

            This had been something of a shock to them.  However, after ensuring that they were actually unconscious, and not dead, they chalked it up to another spell and continued merrily about their business.

            Actually, the unconsciousness factor had proved to be something of a boon.  Ginny'd clapped her hands together, beaming, and said to Neville, "Great!  This will make things so much easier!  Hermione mentioned once that kissing equals true love in these Muggle fairytales, so now all you have to do is go around and kiss everyone!  And since they're all unconscious, they can't say no!  Maybe the squid did this for us!  We'll have to thank him later."

            Neville had not been similarly overjoyed.  In fact, he wasn't thrilled at all.  After turning several interesting shades of white, he'd raked his hand through his hair and said unhappily, "Well, I don't know… isn't that kind of… taking advantage of them?"

            Ginny snorted.  "Of course not!  It's just a little peck.  Now get started, Neville."

            After twenty minutes of protest and struggle, she'd finally convinced him to do it.  Looking extremely put out, he'd clumsily planted a kiss on every Gryffindor girl in the room.  Nothing.  No response.

            "It'll work today," Ginny said confidently, "We'll find someone for you."

            Neville sighed and picked up his spoon, absently wiping up some of the milk he had spilled with his sleeve.  

            He hated his life.

~*~*~*~*~

            Draco'd had odd dreams last night.  He couldn't remember exactly what they were about, but when he woke up he was left with a vaguely… warm and fuzzy feeling. [1] It must have been some sort of nightmare.

           And the warm and fuzzy feelings were starting to piss him off.  He glowered at the glowing blue sky and puffy clouds, glowered at the idly chattering student populace, glowered at the now occupied Gryffindor table.  Especially at the now occupied Gryffindor table.  The fact that Longbottom and one of the Weasley brats had gotten out of Snape's whole Eternal Sleep crap bugged him.  It irritated him even more that the Weasley girl was sitting in Potter's seat, although he wasn't exactly sure why.  Probably since she was most likely pining after his absence and trying to absorb his Almighty Potterness through the chair or something... 

            He glowered at the plate of food Potter had deposited on his rock that morning.

            He hadn't even _looked_ at him that morning.  Draco'd been anticipating some sort of jibe, or snarling comeback from last night's spar, but he had just entered the hall, dumped the food at his feet, and walked off.

            _Probably bitter since I'm right and he knows it, Draco thought sourly, jabbing viciously at his scrambled eggs. _

            At that point Draco's thoughts were blasted into pieces by the sudden entrance of Snape.

            The former Potions Master burst in with the owl post, a flurry of pink among the cloud of brown and white.  Or... what _should have been a cloud of brown and white._

            All of the owls were pink.

            A general howl of alarm swelled among the students as horrified cries of 'Oh, my poor Finikins!' and 'Hestia's plumage is _ruined_!' swept the room.  

            Draco snorted disinterestedly and leaned back against his sword.

            Snape was such a drama queen.

            Slowly, the hook-nosed man descended and landed gently on the ground.  He cleared his throat.  The room was immediately silent.  Neville hid under the table.

            The remaining population of Hogwarts stared at their former Potions Master in a mix of awe and horror.  No one moved.  

            "This room is so _gloomy_," complained Snape, twirling a strand of greasy hair around his fingers.  "I mean, what were the school's founders _thinking when they designed this place?  Absolutely horrific!  Don't you think a change is in order, darlings?"_

            Without waiting for a response, he went into Super Fairy Godmother Mode and pirouetted on the spot, giggling hysterically and waving his wand.  

            All the way down in Hogsmeade, the howls of agony were clearly audible as Snape's redecorating plan commenced.

~*~*~*~*~ 

TBC

Well, there's Chapter 8.  Rather uneventful, sorry.  ^_^()  Many, **many** thanks to everyone who reviewed!  Especially She-Who-Is-Not-To-Be-Psyc; I appreciate your criticism.  I'll try to keep it in mind the next time I toss out a H/D scene, although I can't promise anything... as you've noted H/D interaction isn't my strong point.  Oh well. 

[1]  Well, well.  I wonder what Draco was dreaming about?  Hmm, that's a toughie…__


	9. In Which Everyone is Confused

In this chapter, I'd like to introduce you to: the Schizophrenic Authoress.  I have around five million different styles I use while writing, and I seem to have crammed all of them into this chapter.  *shrug*  Sorry about that!

Also: sorry about the wait.  X_x  I have midterms coming up.  HATE.  MIDTERMS.

So!  On with the story.  ^_^

**Chapter Nine**

**Day Two**

            Madame Rosmerta blinked.  She rubbed her eyes.  She blinked again.  She stared.

            She would have dismissed the sight before her as the aftereffect of too much mulled mead, but unfortunately for her, she hadn't had any since Tuesday.   

            Eventually recovering from her shock and prying her jaw from the ground, Rosmerta stumbled back into the Three Broomsticks, and flooed her way to gossip columnist Flora Evy's home.  She caught Flora just as she was heading off to her job at the Daily Prophet, and gasped out her story to her disbelieving audience.

            Flora hurriedly flooed back to the Three Broomsticks with Madame Rosmerta, but only after suspiciously asking her friend exactly how much mulled mead she had consumed the night before.  Rosmerta dragged her out into the early morning sunlight, and the sight of It smacked her rudely in the face.  She stared. 

            And stared.

            Flora shot off to her office.

            She darted into the cubicle next to hers and babbled the news to her friend Kara Withley, who gasped, rushed off, and told her entire staff, who skittered away and informed everyone else in the entire building.  Including the janitor.  Five disbelieving reporters were immediately dispatched to the Three Broomsticks to investigate.  Five wide eyed, jabbering reporters returned, frantically wielding print-filled sheets of parchment and an impressive collection of photographs.

            The editor decided this was front page material.  

            Down in the lowest level of the towering building, the press buzzed experimentally, then burst into frenzied life, with ink inking, presses pressing, and parchment sliding neatly into their assigned slots (no, it was not parchmenting, for all of you who were wondering).  At exactly 9:00 A.M., as per usual, a tsunami of owls darkened the sky and descended upon the rows of papers.  Workers shrank quickly away from the pink ones.

            One completely normal, not-pink, not-sparkly owl clawed up a neatly-rolled Prophet, and swept off.  This was an Evil Owl.  Actually, it was a perfectly nice and friendly owl, and would gladly share its dead mice with any fellow owl in need, but its owner wanted everything he owned, including his squishy green snake slippers, to be Evil.  Therefore, we will be labeling this owl as Evil.  

            The Evil Owl swept merrily through the skies, then descended into an Evil Vicinity, which came complete with an Evil Lawn and Evil Mansion.  The Evil Owl breezed through a particularly Evil Window, and landed sinisterly with a cheerful hoot on an Very, Very, Very Evil Hand.  

            The Very, Very, Very Evil Hand unrolled the newspaper.  An Evil Eye blinked at the picture flashing gaudily up at it.  Then, abruptly, Evil Knees straightened, and an Evil Voice barked, "Skilly!  Get me a blueberry scone."  

            Skilly the Evil Elf skittered out of the shadows and into the hall, and returned almost immediately, scone in hand.  The scone was devoured.  

            Lucius Malfoy tossed his paper aside and decided it was high time he visited his son.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            "We should probably go in now."

            "...uh-huh."

            ....

            "*cough* Well, um, ladies first..."

            Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.  "Fine, then," she muttered.  Steeling herself, she braced her shoulders and marched purposefully over to the small wooden door imbedded in the castle wall.  She yanked the sword from Ron's hand as she passed.  

            Carefully, with a nervous glance back at Ron, she placed her hand on the splintered surface, and pushed.

            The door screeched slowly open, and the light behind them flooded into the darkened tower, casting their shadows sharply on the stone floor.  The Gryffindors squinted into the semi-shade, wavering on the threshold as they struggled to see.

            They were faced with a towering, circular stone room, the ceiling disappearing into a murky swell of darkness above their heads.  Thick layers of dust stirred faintly as fresh air was breathed silently into the room.  It was empty.

            "If this is another portal thing, I will _not_ be happy," Hermione said darkly, before stepping nervously through the door.  Ron hurried behind her.  Nothing happened.

            They shifted uneasily, squinting into the shadows.  "Well?" stage-whispered Ron, his brow creased and eyes narrowed, "Where's the dragon?"

            "Probably up there," Hermione replied bitterly.  She gestured towards a shadowy flight of stairs carved into the stone wall across the way.  Ron thought he could see a faint flicker of torchlight peering around the curve of the stairwell.

            "Stairs." Ron said flatly, left eye twitching with annoyance.  "We're supposed to climb all the way up this tower??"

            "It's going to drastically reduce our stamina," Hermione sighed unhappily, "but what else can we do?  Let's just get this over with."

            Sighing, they stalked further into the echoing darkness of the tower, dust stirring up in plumes as they marched past.  Then, glancing at each other in resigned disgust, they began their long ascent.

~*~*~*~*~*~

            "_Oof!_"

            Ginny gagged as a lungful of air was forced from her chest.  A Hufflepuff she didn't know was sprawled over her stomach, looking dazed and disoriented.  "What is going _on here?" he choked out, sweeping his sandy brown hair out of his eyes._

            The hall swerved again, tilting dangerously to the left.  Ginny moaned in despair and tried to protect her bruised left side as she, and a large cluster of flailing students, went sliding over the floor and crashed into the wall opposite.  _What **is** going on? Ginny wondered groggily, spitting out a mouthful of her hair and propping her aching self up on her elbows to search for Neville among the sea of bodies.  She began mentally backtracking, trying to think up an explanation for the building's sudden burst of energy._

            The morning had continued in a (relatively) normal fashion after Snape's Pink Spree.  Ginny, after complaining loudly over the way the cotton-candy shaded walls and rugs clashed with her hair, had dragged Neville over to the Hufflepuff table.  He had made little headway.  This wasn't due to any fault of his own; Neville had actually smiled hesitantly at a group of 6th year girls and sidled into a seat across from them, but they were too preoccupied with the sudden blinding pinkness of the scrambled eggs to really notice him.  

            But Neville had pressed gallantly on, clearing his throat several times and even going as far as tapping Susan Bones on the shoulder, but she had just blinked distantly at him and said casually, "Oh, hi, Neville," then continuing her discussion on the pros and cons of pink oatmeal with Hannah Abbot.  Draco Malfoy's running commentary on his progress wasn't helping matters, either.

            He had been about to give up when the school suddenly went nuts.

            The room had lurched, then tilted violently to the left.  Masses of screaming students were sent hurtling across the room.  Entire bowls and plates of food smashed on the careening stone floor, adding to the chaos.  

            The room continued to do this for the next fifteen minutes.

            This was so frustrating that Ginny didn't even have the energy to mock Draco Malfoy, who was swinging like an (enraged, cursing) pendulum from his chain.

            As the Great Hall lurched again and began swerving to the right, Ginny decided she'd had enough of this.  Gritting her teeth, she gallantly shoved several hapless students aside and clutched onto a nearby window ledge.  The stone bit painfully into her fingers, and her knuckles turned pure white, but she hung on with dogged determination as the school bobbed and danced in sickening circles.  Panting with exertion, Ginny pressed her sweating forehead to the glass, squinting as her breath fogged it.  Another lurch slammed her into the window, and she took the opportunity to free her hands and furiously scrub away the mist.  She stared through the glass.  She blinked.  

            Since when had the Great Hall been two stories above the ground?

            And where had all those reporters come from?

~*~*~*~*~*~

            "Well," panted Ron, leaning heavily against the wall, "here we are."

            Hermione, draped across the rocky stairs, nodded faintly, groaning, "This is even worse than when I had to climb the Eiffel Tower."

            Ron blinked at her through the murky shade, puzzled, inquiring between lungfuls of air, "Climb the what?"   

            "Nothing," Hermione muttered, dragging herself to her feet.  

            Ron shrugged, figuring it was another Muggle thing, and then stalked up the last few steps towards the door.

            "Wait!" Hermione gasped out, still clutching at a stitch in her side, "let's review our plan, first.  Accuracy spell's been performed, so we just march in there, name the target, then let go."

            "And if that doesn't work, run like hell," Ron said with a shrug, "We've gone over this a million times, Herm.  I think we're ready."

            She sighed.  "All right, then.  Let's go."  They dragged themselves up the stairs, sword clanging on the rocks behind them, and, steeling themselves, flung the door open.

            Hermione was glad she was clutching onto the doorpost, because if she hadn't been, she was sure she would be tumbling backwards down the stairs by now.  The force of light that blasted from the room blinded them, and filled their ears with a dizzying roar.  

            "What- what _is this?" Hermione yelled over the thundering wave of light.  "I can't see!"_

            She was becoming lightheaded, and spots swam dizzily before her eyes.  All of her energy was suddenly draining from her, leaving her weak and trembling.

            Suddenly, the light dimmed.

            Gasping in nauseous confusion, they stumbled into the room, blinking the exploding lights from their eyes.

            "Well, hello there!" an eerily familiar voice beamed unctuously from the other side of the room, "if it isn't Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger!"

            Throats dry, hardly daring to look, Hermione and Ron turned around, taking in the tall, spacious stone room they were standing in.  Then they saw Him.

            "Bloody hell!" whispered Ron in horrified awe, "it's... it's _Lockhart!_"

~*~*~*~*~*~

            By this time, several students had joined her on the window sill.  They all hung on for dear life, plastered against the window, trying to figure out what was going on.  By now, they had noticed a pattern: whenever a reporter approached the school, the school would scamper furiously away.  This didn't seem to deter the reporters, though.  Not in the least.  Hordes of ink-splattered wizards and witches chased the school across the campus grounds, screaming and waving their parchment like millions of tiny white truce flags.  Twice, the school had come close to tumbling into the lake, and Greenhouse 3 had almost been smashed to pieces.

            "Think, Terry, think!" Neville was saying urgently somewhere on her right.  Ginny craned her neck, barely catching a glimpse of a tousled, sweat stained Neville clutching onto the edge of the railing.  Ravenclaw Terry Boot dangled nearby, forehead scrunched up in concentration.

            The school gave another violent lurch, unseating two screaming Slytherins from their perch.  Screaming, they skidded over the floor, smashing painfully into the opposite wall.  Ginny winced.  Terry and Neville scrambled into the vacated space next to her.  "You're Muggleborn, Terry?" Ginny asked breathlessly.  

            He nodded, his curly brown hair straggling over his face.  "I'm trying to remember which fable this comes from.  I _know I've read something like this before, I just can't...  OH!"_

            "What?  Do you remember?" Neville asked hopefully.  

            Terry Boot didn't reply.  Instead, after some struggle, he managed to get his wand out of his robe pocket, and with an awkward wave of his hand, he yelled, "_Accio Camera!"_

            After a moment's confusion, Ginny shrieked, "DUCK!" as a shiny black camera suddenly shot out of an aggravated reporter's hand, and soared like a Bludger towards their window.  Glass exploded everywhere, clattering like rain over the floor and walls.  Terry easily caught the camera in his left hand.

            Slowly, with a vague mechanical whirr, the camera spit out a moving, black and white image of their school.  Ginny and Neville stared over his shoulder, transfixed.  "I knew it," Terry said with a resigned sigh, "we're in a Russian fairytale.  Our school has sprouted chicken legs."

~*~*~*~*~*~

            By now, the school had settled down somewhat.  It was dusk, and the reporters were tired, disgruntled, and dirty.  (Not that they'd given up.  A whole flock of them were camped out next to the Quidditch pitch.)  Malfoy was very, very glad.

            Slumped against his sword, he rubbed his blistering wrist disgruntledly.  Dangling from his chain all day had not been good for his skin.  Or his pride.  Glaring at the throbbing red welts peppering his arm, he began to wish he had taken that Medical Class Madame Pomfrey had started up a couple months ago...

            The door creaked open behind him.  Potter.  Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched the dark haired boy shuffle tiredly into the room, feet dragging.  He looked like a wreck.  Soap suds gleamed and clung to his straggling hair, purplish circles ringed his eyes, and his glasses hung askew from his pale, taut face.  Those house elves were probably working him to death.

            Draco ignored the flash of concern that shot through his gut, scowled, and focused on the food.

            "What've you got for me today, Potter?"

            Harry looked up sharply at that, green eyes focusing on him with a sudden, wary snap.  Draco himself blinked, surprised by the lack of antagonism in his voice.  He just sounded... tired.  Yesterday had been sparked with heated anger and annoyance, but today they both seemed affected by the subdued, heavy exhaustion in the air.  A day spent lurching around in the Hogwarts Castle was bound to do that to anyone.

            "Pork," Harry responded flatly, still eyeing him carefully.  A smudge of grease darkened his forehead, and Draco had a sudden urge to lean over and wipe it off.  An uneasy tremor stirred in his gut, and he quickly averted his eyes, instead reaching out to grab the plate from Potter's hands, surveying the pork critically.  Dead pigs.  Yay.

            He was surprised when his arm was suddenly stopped short.  

            Harry was clutching at his forearm, glasses sliding further down his nose as he squinted in concentration at his wrist.  Draco could feel the pulse of the Boy who Lived echoing heavily over his arm, and something in his chest froze.  "Let go of me, Potter," he heard himself hiss, but he made no move to pull away.

            "Your wrist," Harry said slowly, "what happened?  That's going to get infected if you don't do something about it."

            "Thanks for the update.  I really needed to hear that," Draco snarled, snatching his arm away.  He was pleased to see a vaguely irritated look flash across Potter's face, but it was quickly replaced with stony determination as he grabbed him again- his hand, this time- and snatched up Malfoy's wand.

            Alarm immediately shot through him, and he grabbed viciously for his wand, eyes sparking with anger, but Harry held it out of his reach.  "Stay still, you git," he snapped, "I'm not going to curse you!  Even though you bloody well deserve it..."  Scowling, he yanked back Malfoy's sleeve, so his blistered arm was in full view.

            "_Disinfectus,_" he said roughly, prodding the swelling wrist a bit harder than he should have.  Draco immediately stiffened, gray eyes shooting open as what felt like millions of tiny red-hot needles blasted into his skin.  His eyes watered, but his mouth remained clamped tightly shut.  He was _not _going to show weakness in front of Potter...

            As abruptly as it began, the stinging subsided, and Draco let out a lungful of breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.  He frowned at his wrist, blinking back some of the moisture in his eyes.  The swelling had gone down sharply, and the skin was definitely less crimson than it had been before.  Slowly, he turned suspicious eyes to his nemesis, who was at the moment creating bandages from thin air.

            "What did you just do?" he asked quietly, scanning Potter's face for an answer to the sudden throng of questions building in his throat.  Harry, still looking exhausted and slightly miffed, responded tensely, "What does it look like?  It's a disinfecting spell.  I'm taking Madame Pomfrey's Medical Class."

            Draco's eyebrow arched slowly.  "Didn't know you wanted to be a nurse, Potter."

            Harry, now firmly jerking the bandages around his wrist, pinned him with a hard, vaguely threatening stare.  "Auror," he corrected, eyes narrowing. He neatly tucked in the edge of the bandage, and drew away.  Draco observed his precursory glance at the door, which was (surprise, surprise) sealed shut, and the defeated slump of his shoulders.

            "Why'd you do this?" Draco asked, holding up his wrist.  He made sure his voice sounded hard and authoritative, even though inwardly his thoughts were jumbled in a foggy haze of exhaustion and confusion.  He watched Harry keenly as the boy leaned against the pink rock, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes and glancing at Draco out of the corner of his eyes.  

            "We're going to be trapped in this ritual for God knows how long.  Might as well keep the unpleasantness to a minimum," he said simply.  

            "Oh," Draco said, taken aback (although he refused to show it).  He didn't know how to respond to that.  Instead, he stabbed into his pork, and chewed away.  They sat in silence for a while.

            After Draco had devoured his meal, Harry turned around, and fixed him with a penetrating stare.  "So, do you agree?"

            Draco frowned.  "To what?"

            "To a truce."  A pale, calloused hand was thrust out before him, and green eyes watched him expectantly.  Draco sat stock still for several moments, mind buzzing, before slowly reaching out and grasping the proffered hand.

            "Only for now.  Truce."

~*~*~*~*~*~

TBC

**Fairytale Count:**

            *Beauty and the Beast (as one reviewer kindly pointed out, I forgot to stick this in last chapter.  Whoops!  ^_^()  )

            *That Russian Fairytale With The House With Chicken Legs

Does anyone remember the name of that one?  For the life of me, I can't remember what it's called.  I think it begins with 'Baba' or something like that.  And it involves flying bathtubs.  

So- again, I have to thank you for your patience.  *bows*  Y'all rock!  You have my undying gratitude and adoration!  *blows kisses* 


	10. Be afraid, be kind of afraid

**Chapter Ten**

**Day Two**

            "So, what do you think?" Lockhart beamed magnanimously, sweeping his arm out in a gesture that encompassed the entire room.  The tiny green plates of light metal that adorned his rather unusual robe glittered and clattered together jarringly.  Ron and Hermione glanced uneasily at each other.

            "Of what?" Hermione inquired suspiciously.

            "The room, of course!" Lockhart grinned widely, and they winced as the light reflected blindingly from his teeth.  Averting their eyes, Ron and Hermione looked over the airy stone room.  It was empty save a stirring of cobwebs dusting the corners, and a magenta curtain that fluttered behind Lockhart, clashing violently with his emerald robes.

            "It's, uh, really nice..."

            Lockhart nodded and rocked back on his heels, smile set firmly in place as he scanned the room.  "This," he announced with pride, "is my mind."

            Silence greeted this sudden declaration.  

            "Oh, of course, this isn't the _natural_ state of it all!  I just thought that it would be nice to have a little tower set out for you.  Muggles really do like these types of things, don't they?  I personally think it's terribly inconvenient, and _drafty _at that."

            Recovering quickly from his shock, Ron choked out, "Wait!!  Hold on- This... this is all _inside your mind??_  We're in your _head_?!"

            "Correct," Lockhart beamed, teeth flashing once more.  "Rather interesting spell Severus set up in the Astronomy Tower back in the school.  Made the doorway a mental portkey, of sorts.  But would you mind terribly if I changed my mind back to the way it was before?  No?  Lovely."

            Before Hermione or Ron had a chance to react, there was a sharp blast of light that seared through their eyelids, blinding them completely.  Just as suddenly it cleared, leaving them dizzy and disoriented.  Hermione shook her head violently, clearing the spots from her eyes.  She immediately wished she hadn't.

            The room was exactly the same, save the new (though not improved) papering of the walls.  Thousands upon thousands of smirking Lockharts winked down at them from the walls, preening, gazing adoringly into mirrors, adjusting their robes.  All of them were signed.  Even the curtain behind Lockhart was no longer noticeably red- every square inch of it was pinned with a photograph of him.  

            Hermione emitted a small scream and covered her face with her hands.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_April 6th, Thursday_

_            Okay, I guess I'm starting a diary.  Actually, scratch that- I'll call it a 'log.'  That way I can cling onto some of the last shreds of my dignity.  Which would be helpful, since Dignity and I don't seem to be on speaking terms any more.  _

_            So, reader, whoever you may be, you are probably wondering why there is a log scrawled in the margins of "The Happy Warlock's Guide to Radishes and Turnips."  I will tell you why.  I am Cinderella.  Don't believe me?  Ha!  Ha!  Actually, if you are reading this, there is a fifty percent chance that you don't even know who Cinderella is anyway, so never mind._

_            Wow, I'm rambling.  I guess that's what happens when you've been running around a kitchen for six hours straight, stacking and pouring and mixing and dicing.  I swear, if I see another potato I will go berserk.  That's a fun word.  Berserk.  _

_            The room is spinning around me.  Is that a bad sign?  If Malfoy sees me like this, he'll never let it go.  Oh, wait, we have a truce going on, don't we?  I forgot about that.  It's weird seeing that in writing: 'Malfoy' and 'truce' in the same few sentences.  We've had pretty strained relations for the past few days.  I keep wanting to mess up his hair (still perfectly gelled, damn him) or grow warts on his nose or **something**_**, **_just so things won't be so tense.  But it's just silence, when I bring him his food.  He'll look at me, like he's about to say something, then just shovel all that food in._

_            Food.  Foooood.  Another very, very nice word.  Even The Happy Warlock's Radish Stew is starting to look good now.  When was the last time I ate?  I think I had some porridge or something for breakfast, but I can't really remember.  Having all this mouth-watering stuff cooked around me isn't helping matters much, either.  And the elves won't let me have anything.  Since when were they such slave drivers?  They were so concerned about my welfare when I first woke up here, but now they're just this sea of tiny tyrants.  Trevor's actually been a big help, hopping around and stealing bits of bread for me.  He won't stop croaking 'Gus Gus,' though.  _

_            Speaking of tyrants: Crabbe and Goyle paid a visit.  I now have very substantial black and blue proof that there still is quite a bit of muscle under all that lace.  Ouch._

_            I wonder what Hermione and Ron are up to now?  I would be concerned about their welfare, but I somehow doubt their curse, if they have one, can be much more hellish than this._

~*~*~*~*~*~

            "So gorgeous it hurts, I know," Lockhart said smoothly as Hermione continued to moan in pain.  Several photographs on their right nodded along in agreement.  Ron put a reassuring hand on Hermione's elbow.  "Now, could we get this business over with?  I made a deal with Snape that if I finished with the two of you in 48 hours I would permanently have my memory back."

            "Get _what_ over with?" Ron inquired suspiciously, raising his sword and taking a step towards the smirking celebrity.

            "You _dying_, of course," Lockhart said very slowly, as if he was talking to very small children or the mentally impaired.  He reached into his robes.

           Ron immediately dropped his sword and burst into laughter.  "_You_ kill _us?_" he howled, "Professor, no offense meant, but you wouldn't be able to Transfigure yourself out of a matchbox."

            Lockhart's eyes darkened.  "Perhaps not," he said softly, "but I can do this."

            With that, he wrenched a small vial from an inner pocket in his scaly green robes and downed the white fluid inside in one gulp.  

            "Very impressive," said Ron flatly, not at all impressed.

            "Wait, Ron!" Hermione gasped, grabbing his sleeve, "I think that's the _Lumixos_ potion, Snape must have made it for him- it's..."

            She was cut off as Lockhart smashed the vial to the floor, lips pursed tightly shut.  Hermione noticed with growing apprehension that each photographic Lockhart was staring at them, their mouths tightly closed as well.  Suddenly, they smiled.  

            Ron and Hermione barely had time to register the searing bolts of light reflecting from their teeth before the light hit them.  They doubled over in pain, Ron's head smacking into stone floor as he fell.  It _burned_, pressing into their skin like a physical force, sending waves of firey pain pounding through them.  Hermione opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was drowned out by the roar of light echoing in her ears.  Dizzy and nauseous, they slumped against the floor, twisting painfully as the light swallowed them.  

            _We're getting fried to death by Lockhart's **teeth!**_Hermione registered as she felt her skin begin to blister.  _That is not what I want on my obituary!_

            This thought gave her a new sense of determination.  Shakily, despite the raw welts spreading over her arms, she pushed herself to her knees.  Clutching her wand tightly in her hand, she hastily ran a series of spells through her mind, but the light made her dizzy and her thoughts swam.        

            _I can't do this!_ she thought frantically as bright bursts of white pressed through her tightly closed eyelids.  _I... I can't think of anything to stop this!_        

            Suddenly, through the blur of light to her left, she heard a weak, muffled shout of _"Sootrificus!"_

            The light stopped.

            Hermione choked and fell to the ground.  

            A strange, ashy substance smothered her skin and tickled her nose.  She sneezed loudly and shook her head, attempting to clear the ringing sound from her ears.  Carefully wiping whatever it was that was covering her face away, she blinked through the sudden dimness.

            Everything was dark.  Hermione could barely make out the stiff, frozen form of Lockhart before them.  He let out a slow, muffled scream like a dying toad and suddenly sank to the floor, clawing at his teeth.  "What have you done?" he wailed, "My... my perfect, pearly white, Colgate freshened _teeth!!_"

            Hermione raised her eyebrows and grinned.  "Sootrificus, huh?"

            Ron snickered.  "I've always wanted to do that."

            Everything in the room was covered in a fine layer of soot.  Every single Lockhart photo was completely plastered over, and their muffled protests were quickly picking up in volume as they realized what exactly had been done to their flawless complexions.  The real Lockhart was now clawing at his face like an animal, the soot streaking messily all over his face.  Beneath the ashy coating on his teeth, a light began to flicker dangerously.  His eyes flashed maniacally as he suddenly straightened and lunged at them.

            "You little _brats_, I'LL MAKE YOU PA_-"_

            "Stupefy!"

            Lockhart slumped gracelessly to the ground, stirring up a thick cloud of soot as he fell.  Coughing, Hermione lowered her wand and sighed remorsefully.  "We should have done that the moment we stepped in here."

            With another sigh and a few flicks of her wand, Hermione bound up the now unconscious professor and cleared the room of soot.  The two of them spent the next few minutes stacking up pictures and hurling them out the window.  When the last wailing, dirt-smudged Lockhart fluttered slowly out of sight, Ron and Hermione turned back to the room.

            "So," said Ron, brow creased as he frowned, "do we just leave him there?"  He nudged Lockhart's prone form with his sneaker.  

            "I suppose.  He should remain unconscious for another twenty minutes or so.  In that time frame, I'm sure we can find..." Hermione's voice faltered and broke off.  She glanced uneasily at Ron.  Ron's ears flushed bright red and his next foot-nudge was slightly harder than the first, sending the ex-professor sprawling flat on his face.

            "Well," he said dismally, "we might as well get this over with."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Ginny's List_

            *_Gryffindor: ruled out.  All kissed.  Plus, unconscious._

_            *Hufflepuff: several work with N. in Herbology- potential here: Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Marjorie Dillon.  Also, Kittie Lanthon, but third year, eww.  Must set out pictures of these 3 for N., watch for blushing._

_            *Ravenclaw: mostly disinterested.  Females only talk to N. if want to experiment on toad.  (Side note: where is that toad?) Potential: Lisa Turpin?  Seems shy.  Will force N. upon her in library._

_            *Slytherin: ha! ha! ha!_

_                        (if desperate: Millicent Bulstrode.)   _    

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Ron yanked the magenta curtain aside.  The pair blinked down the long, dark corridor that was revealed to them, winding out of sight into the wall.  "You're sure this is the only place they could be?" he asked, sticking his head into the dimness of the hall.  "It doesn't seem like it really leads anywhere."

           "Well, where else would they be?" Hermione asked impatiently, brushing past him and marching into the passageway.  Her voice echoed as she went deeper, and Ron jogged to catch up to her receding form.  "Unless they were hiding under the flagstones in that giant foyer downstairs, we would have seen them on the way up here."

            Affronted by the tone of her voice, Ron sank into a sullen silence.  He was, in fact, so irritated that he considered not telling her when he suddenly walked into a door handle sticking out of the right wall, but his pained 'oof' made that decision for him.

            "What's this?" asked Hermione interestedly, backing up a few steps to stare at the door in the wall.  

            "What's it look like?" Ron snapped, rubbing his bruised side and slumping against the wall.  Hermione gave him a very lofty look, then ignored him, giving the handle a sharp twist.

            "OW!  Watch it, kid!" the handle shrieked, and the pair stumbled back in shock.  Ron's sword clattered loudly to the floor.  The handle, suddenly looking very bulbous and nose-like, twitched, and two slanted eyes blinked up at them over its rim.  "Whatsa matter, never seen a talking door handle before?"

            They chose not to answer this question.

            Hermione cautiously made her way back over to the handle, her hand still resting over her wildly thundering heart in a steadying gesture.  Ron, scrambling to recover his sword, quickly followed suit.  

            "I'm sorry if I injured you," Hermione said hesitantly, bending so that she was face to face with the lump of brass.  "Would you mind opening this door?  We have reason to believe that some friends of ours may be behind it."

            The handle's eyes narrowed further.  "Sorry, missy, no can do.  Was told by the boss not to let anyone in, or out."

            "'The boss'?" asked Ron, brow furrowed.  "Lockhart or Snape?"

            "The blonde guy.  I am a figment of his mind, y'know, so he's boss.  Technically, you two are figments of his mind, too."

            Hermione made an offended noise in the back of her through, and Ron turned purple.  The handle charged on, heedless.  "He's conked out, though, isn't he?  Can't feel his mojo buzzing around in the air.  So that means this whole setup is ownerless.  If you kids set your minds to it, y'might be able to bend some of the rules.  Otherwise, you ain't getting into this room."   

            A thoughtful look crossed Hermione's face as she thanked the handle, then turned, dragging Ron back to the entryway.

            Ron shook his head and sighed.  "This just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

            Hermione shrugged.  "What did you expect?  This is Lockhart's mind we're in, after all."

            "Good point.  But what are we going to do?  Did you understand half of what that handle was saying?"

            By this point, they had reached the curtain.  They pushed past it, into the light, and paused to clear their eyes.  Lockhart groaned and shifted at their feet.  Hermione re-Stupefied him.

            "I think I understand some of it," she said slowly as she slumped to the ground, her back against the wall.  Ron lowered himself beside her, and without thinking, she dropped her head tiredly onto his shoulder, not noticing when he stiffened.  "Mind magic is tricky," she continued, "and I've never fully comprehended it.  But from what I could make out, it seems that all these things created by Lockhart's mind don't flicker out of being when he's knocked out; they just stop being part of him.  They just become normal _things_, made of mind matter.  This mind matter can be manipulated, with a great deal of effort, by outside forces if its owner is unconscious."

            "So, in order to get to Seamus and Lavender, we have to somehow get rid of that door."

            "No, I don't think it works that way," Hermione said slowly, "you can't just get rid of mind matter; the Conservation of Mass applies in this situation.  I think we have to alter the rules Lockhart's set up in his mind, instead of the bits of mind matter."

            "All right, then, so we change the rules so that the door knob lets us and not Lockhart?"

            "I suppose... it's worth a shot.  Let's just try to picture the door knob opening the door for us."

            The pair squeezed their eyes shut, foreheads wrinkling as they pulled the image of the door handle into their minds.  They sat in tension for what must have been five minutes, the silence stifling as they pictured the door opening, over and over.  

            Ron was growing bored.  It became a pattern, flickering against the insides of his eyelids: open, shut.  Open, shut.  Open, shut.  He began to hum a Twisted Sister song under his breath to go with the beat.  Hermione flinched in surprise when he began unconsciously tapping out the rhythm on her knee.  "_Ron!_" she hissed, "Concentrate!"

            Sullenly, he obeyed, the song fading from his mind as he went back to the image of the door.  Open, shut.  There was a faint thumping sound to his left and a murmur of _Stupefy!_ as Hermione idly knocked out their ex-professor once more.  Open, shut.

            The wall was pressing painfully into his back, and Hermione's hair was tickling his nose.  He couldn't help but be distracted as she nestled further into his neck, her steady warmth pressing into his side.  He had a sudden urge to wrap his arms around her, but he quickly pushed it aside.  Open, shut.

            The door in his mind shut one last time, and he drifted into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Father:_

_            I have received the letter, pen, parchment, and ink you've sent me via Flash, and am very grateful.  But would you please check on Flash's left wing?  If you haven't already noticed, the school seems to have damaged it in when he was trying to get in through the window.  _

_            The past few days have been a dreadful bore.  You would be pleased to know that I've been keeping Potter on his toes: Snape has assigned him to be my personal slave, and he has been personally delivering my meals every day since this has started.  Also, I seem to have cowed him into submission; he no longer goads me or tries to start fights._

_            I am (*various words heavily scratched out here*) doing fine.  Snape has neglected to curse me, or any other members of the Slytherin House.  You needn't worry about me; studies have slacked off considerably, but we are managing ourselves well.  I'm sure you would rather be back at the Manor right now.  _

_            Send Mother my regards.  _

_Your Son,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_P.S.  I could do with some extra hair gel.  I seem to have lost mine._

~*~*~*~*~*~

TBC

**Fairytale Count: **

            * Alice in Wonderland (talking door knob)

            * Mary Poppins (not really a fairytale, I know, and not really mentioned, but the whole soot thing was inspired by 'Chim-chimeny') 

Thanks so much to all of you who told me about Baba Yaga- I never would have been able to remember otherwise.  And once again, a million thanks to all reviewers!  You have all been the greatest encouragement.  Hugs to all.


	11. Cranky beans and a trip to de Nile

GAH!  Haven't updated in five years...  XX  Wow, I suck.

Anyway.  (Look, reviewer who corrected my grammar!  I changed it to 'anyway!')  For those of you who are interested, this chapter is chock full of Harry/Draco.  Hope it's satisfactory.

**Chapter Eleven**

**Day Three**

            Draco Malfoy felt a pang.

            He wasn't sure what it was at first.  He looked down at his stomach, frowning, and poked at it inquisitively.  No, he wasn't hungry...

            The pang panged again.  It burrowed into his chest and stretched through his body, leaving him feeling strangely dense and hollow at the same time.  He didn't like it.

            He sat for a while, thinking about it.  It wasn't as if there was really anything else to do (he had already filled up the parchment his father had given him with tiny animated doodles of Snape being hung by his own intestines).  And as he thought, a vague, horrible realization began to creep over him: he was lonely.

            Draco Malfoy, mini-evil-incarnate, he-who-ruled-Slytherin-with-a-fist-of-steel, was _lonely._

            Draco decided this couldn't possibly be right, so he thought about the panging, empty feeling for a while more.

            His thoughts, nasty little buggers that they were, veered about for a while before swerving right back to the same conclusion: Draco Malfoy was _lonely._

            Blasted thoughts.

            But he had to admit, it did make some sense; this was the longest he'd ever gone without degrading/ordering someone to do menial tasks.  Well, except for that one time when he was five, and his mother got so irritated with his constant yammering that she put a silencing spell on him for a week.  But that was beside the point.

            The point was, Draco was experiencing _feelings._  And a feeling that wasn't disgust, extreme godliness, or sadism, at that.  It was _confusing._  It made him feel weak.

            It was also, horribly enough, the reason that he smiled when Harry Potter entered the room.

            Hermione and Ron awoke to the sound of muffled gnawing to their left.

            Groggily disentangling themselves from each other, they looked around until their eyes fell on the sight of Lockhart furiously chewing at the ropes twined around his wrists.  They stared at him.  He paused, and stared back.

            Hermione frowned.  "_Stupefy,_" she said sternly, and then tsked to herself as she reinforced his bonds. 

            "Do you think it worked?" questioned Ron, "The whole door-opening thing, I mean."

            "I don't know," Hermione frowned.  "Lockhart waking up might have interfered with it somewhat, but it seems he was concentrating most of his energy on getting out of those ropes."

            "Well, let's check, then."

            The two hustled down the hall, their footsteps surer this time.  They slowed when they reached the familiar door.

            "Back again, are you?" the doorknob called through the semi-shade.

            "Yes," Hermione replied cautiously, "Will you let us through?"

            The doorknob was silent for a moment.  Then it started choking.

            "Hey!" yelped Ron, backing up a step, "What... what's wrong?"

            "_Gyyeahchgahhh_," the doorknob replied.  A lump swelled beneath its keyhole mouth, slowly moving upwards as it continued to gag.  After several long moments of dumbfounded silence, a small package came popping out of its gaping mouth.  Hermione carefully picked it up.

            "What was that?" she asked slowly, "are you all right?"

            "Just open the damn package," the knob rasped, looking thoroughly nauseous.  Hermione raised her eyebrows, then gestured for Ron to open it.  She held her wand at the ready, aiming it at the small brown object in Ron's palm.  Ron stared at her.

            "You know," he said, "that's not very reassuring."

            Hermione rolled her eyes.  "It's just a _precaution,_" she snapped testily, "Lockhart may have planted a trap or something of the sort."

            Grumbling under his breath, Ron tapped dubiously at the package with one finger, then quickly yanked the covering back.

            They stared at the small lumps resting in Ron's palm.

            "Bertie Botts...?" Ron said slowly, tilting his hand so the five beans rolled around sluggishly. 

            "Gah!  Stop that!" one of the beans snapped, "I get motion sickness."

            Ron and Hermione stared.

            The beans stared back.

            "Well," said one of the reddish beans after a pause, "are you going to eat us, or what?"

            "Erm," said Hermione, "Please excuse us for a moment."  She looked pointedly at Ron, who gave her his patented '_wuh__?'_ look until she tsked irritably to herself and folded his fingers over the beans.

            "Do you have any inkling of what's going on?" Hermione whispered.

            Ron was still staring at his hand.  "Can _all _of them talk like that?  If that's the case, I'm never buying Bertie Botts aga-"

            "RON!" hissed Hermione, "pay attention!  Do we eat them?"

            "Seems like we have no choice," Ron shrugged.  "You might as well do a couple scanning spells on them first, though."

            "Good thinking."  Hermione gently pried his fingers open, and the five beans blinked grumpily up at her.  "Um, hello," she said uncertainly, "We... we just wanted to do some checking spells on you to make sure you won't poison or asphyxiate us."

            "Glad to see you trust us!" snapped the blue bean, scowling up at her from Ron's palm.

            "Why is everything in Lockhart's mind so irritable?" Hermione grumbled.

            "HEY!" the doorknob and beans shrieked.

            Before any more abuse could be exchanged, a blue light flared at the tip of Hermione's wand and flashed over the five beans.  After a while, the light faded into pale green.  Briskly tucking her wand back into her robes, Hermione straightened and said, "Well, nothing seems to be wrong with you.  So, which ones are we supposed to eat?"

            "Us!" two red ones said sulkily, obviously still miffed over being called poisonous.

            "I still feel kind of weird about this," mumbled Ron as he gingerly picked up a bean.  "I mean, they _talk._"

            "Just eat it, Ron," Hermione said wearily, before popping a bean into her mouth.

            The next thing she knew, the hall had stretched to the size of the Great Hall, and giant boulders were raining from the sky.

            "What's the matter with _you_?" Harry said dubiously, hovering by the doorway.

            "Nothing.  I'm _fine!"_ snapped Draco, which was quite a feat, considering he was presently engaged in a ferocious battle with his facial muscles, trying to force them back into their original sneer-formation.   

            Harry was still staring at the grimacing Draco suspiciously, and seemed as if he was about to back out of the room again, when the school decided to take a walk to the lake.  Barely keeping his grip on his plate of food, Potter was flung unceremoniously into the Great Hall, and the door slammed behind him.

            Adjusting his glasses and grumbling to himself, he made his way across the gently careening room and dumped the plate on Draco's rock.  Sighing tiredly, he leaned against it, letting his head fall onto his arms.

            "Thanks," said Draco, digging in.

            "There _is_ something wrong with you!" yelped Harry, immediately springing back into life and stumbling back a few paces.  

            Malfoy felt a similar surge of alarm and horror building in his throat, but in typical Malfoy fashion, refused to show it.  "I was raised to be polite," he said coolly, "I suppose I can't expect _some_ people to recognize good manners, though."

            Looking moderately appeased, Harry warily leaned back against the stone.  They sat in silence for a moment, Draco eating away, until a thought struck him.

            "Hey," Malfoy said around a mouthful of bread, "what are you so edgy about anyway?  You were the one who started this whole truce thing in the first place."

            Harry sighed.  "I know.  I just guess I'm not used to it.  It throws everything off when you're not nasty."

            Draco rolled his eyes.  "Typical Gryffindor."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Everything's in black and white for you.  Where's the fun in that?  Actually, I think I'll start fawning all over you just to make you squirm.  Sit, sit."  He genially patted a space of rock across from him, plastering a freakishly huge leer over his face.  Harry eyed him warily, looking momentarily horrified, then rolled his eyes before slowly complying.  Draco noted that while Potter was still traumatized by his nice-ness (score one for Draco!), he seemed grateful for the chance to rest his feet.  He also noted with a sense of fascinated horror that part of him _liked_ helping Potter.  The other part told him to shut up.

            "Are you always this contrary?" Potter asked when Draco offered him some soup with a sickeningly sweet smile. 

            "It comes naturally to me," he responded smugly.  "Father told me never to waste my talents."

            Harry snorted.  "Makes sense.  You should always make the most of the stuff you have in scarcity."  Both were surprised to note the lack of edge in Potter's voice.  He was almost... teasing.  As if he was... getting used to Fake Nice Malfoy (because yes, it was totally, totally fake).

            Draco took a vicious bite out of his turkey, and told himself firmly that the lonely-pangs most certainly had _not_ turned into warm-fuzzies. 

            Hermione pressed herself into the floor, chest heaving, as the rumbling slowly subsided.  Finally daring to look up, she peeked over her arm at the three shiny boulders littered around her. 

            "Hey," said one, "what's the matter with _you?_"

            Hermione shrieked and ran back a few paces before tripping over Ron.

            "Ron!" she gasped, "are you all right?"

            "I think I am," he said slowly, rubbing his bruised side, "if you consider being the size of an ant to be 'all right.'"

            "Size of an- what are you _talking_ about, Ronald Weasley?" 

            He gestured at their surroundings, and it suddenly hit her.  They had shrunk, and the 'boulders' were actually the three remaining beans.  She gaped, then ducked as a dust ball the size of Colorado went breezing over her head. 

            "You two ready?" said the lone blue bean, "we can't just lounge around here all day."  With that, all three beans began rolling towards a strip of light that was streaming through a crack between the floor and an enormous brown plank that appeared to be the door. 

            Ron sighed as he slowly dragged himself to his feet.  "I have a feeling this is going to be a long, long day," he sighed.

            "_Yes_!  I completely agree, Roger Whitely is the most incompetent Keeper in Quidditch history."

            "And if the Thunderbolts would only recruit Gary Shanker, all their problems would be solved."

            "Exactly.  But _that's_ not going to happen any time soon, what with their five-foot height restriction..."

            Harry and Draco were currently discovering the almost eerie parallels in their Quidditch opinions.  Draco's lunch lay abandoned next to his sword, and the space between them was littered with the breadcrumbs they had used to sketch out potential Quidditch diagrams.

            "You know," Harry said after a while, picking absently at a chunk of bread, "I'd always wondered why we could predict each other's movements so accurately on the field.  I guess we just have similar Quidditch-minds."

            "Hmmm.  Well, don't expect me not to use this information against you, Potter,"  Draco said with an evil smile.  "Next time I see your shoulders tense before a dive, I'll _know_ it's a Wronski Feint." 

            "I never expected anything else from you," Harry said demurely, flashing him a  grin that made his stomach flip.

            _Will you look at that, I'm hungry again,_ Draco thought hastily, violently suppressing the flush that was threatening to spread over his cheeks.  He snatched a chunk of bread from Potter's hands and stuffed it in his mouth, ignoring his protesting and rather full stomach.

            Completely oblivious, Harry continued on, jabbing at the half-eaten diagram lying between them.  "Then again, _I _can now report to Angelina all of the future tactics you have planned for your team."

            The flush was quickly dissipating.  Draco eyed Harry coolly.  "Ah, so you were just trying to get information from me the whole time.  Tricky, Potter."

            Harry rolled his eyes and threw the Marcus Flint breadcrumb at his head.  "Lighten up, Malfoy.  Not everyone is out to get you.  You're not _that_ special, you know."

            Draco blinked.  But before he had a chance to reply, he was interrupted by an earsplitting bang from somewhere deep within the school.  Jolting in alarm, they looked towards the door.  Surprisingly enough, it was open.  He and Potter had been talking for longer than he'd thought. 

            "_Potterella!!"_ a shrieking baritone rang through the halls, "Where ARE you?!"

            Malfoy's eyebrows slowly ascended towards his hairline.  "..._Potterella?"_ he repeated slowly.  Then his face burst into a manic, evilly gleeful grin.  "Potterella??"  He doubled over with laughter.

            "I heard you the first time!!" Harry snapped, face crimson with embarrassment and frustration.  "Will you _shut up? _Malfoy, you have to hide me!!"

            Draco shut up.  He eyed Potter with a raised, calculating eyebrow.  "I do, do I?  Since when am I obligated to help _you, _Potter?"  There.  This niceness thing had gone on long enough.  Draco decided his Pleasant Quota was more than filled for the day.

            The shrieks and thundering footfalls were rapidly growing louder.

            Potter stared at him, green eyes flabbergasted.  "Since... since... _truce!_" he sputtered, looking increasingly panicked. 

            "That," responded Draco idly as he picked at his nails, "means only that I don't actively torment you.  It doesn't mean I have to actively be _nice_ to you."

            "Then what do you call your behavior of the past _hour??_" Potter looked on the verge of screaming, but too terrified of being overheard to do so.  His voice was wavering dangerously, and he was raking at his hair, making it straggle even more crazily.

            Draco was greatly amused.

            "Potter," he said, resting his chin in his palm and smiling beatifically, "Bugger off."

            "WHERE IS HE?"

            Crabbe and Goyle exploded into the room in a whirl of chiffon and lace.  Wheeling about, their eyes fell on the frozen figure of Draco, who was staring at them in abject horror.  "Hey, you!" snarled Goyle, pointing a meaty finger at him, "Potterella gives you your food, doesn't he?  Out with it, where'd he go?!"

            Recovering his wits (a Malfoy _always_ kept his wits about him), Draco straightened and glared at them from his pink rock.  "How should _I _know," he snapped, "I'm not Potter's- _Potterella's_ keeper."      

            "Hmph!" sniffed Crabbe, "We're wasting our time here, Greggy."  Casting Draco a scathing look, he grabbed Goyle's sleeve and marched him out of the Great Hall.        

            A fork to Draco's left heaved a great sigh of relief.

            Gradually untensing, Malfoy rolled his eyes and tapped it with his wand.  The fork promptly turned into a bleary-eyed and disoriented Potter.  "Hey," he said, surprised, "We don't learn human transfiguration until seventh year!"

            Malfoy shrugged.  "I skipped ahead in the book."

            Harry cast him an impressed look, and Draco preened.  "Anyway," Harry said, "Thanks.  I really thought they were going to get me for a second there."

            Draco shrugged the comment off.  Rubbing his eyes, he sighed, "So _that_ explains your hissy fit.  That is a sight I'm never going to burn out of my memory..."

            Harry nodded grimly.  "I'm surprised you handled it so well.  I almost choked on my own tongue the first time that I saw them." 

            They sat in silence for a moment.  Then:  "Why did you help me, Malfoy?"

            Draco winced.  He'd thought he'd skillfully directed their conversation _away_ from that point.  Now what was he supposed to say?  'Well, the thing is, Potter, I have no resistance against wobbly puppy eyes, especially when they are huge, green, and more specifically, YOURS'? 

            No.  Nope.  Not going to happen.

            "Can't insult the food bearer.  Don't want you bringing me Thai food out of spite."

            Potter grinned, but he still looked a bit speculative, as if he didn't completely believe him.

            "Well," he said with a sigh, "I guess I'd better get back.  The elves will be starting on dinner now..."

            Draco nodded, relieved.  He was suddenly exhausted, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess.  His relationship with Potter had done a 180 in the space of an hour, and the result was a very Conflicted and Confused Malfoy.  He needed some alone time.

            Casting Draco one last searching look, Harry gathered up the plates and left.

TBC

Finally, es finito.  sigh   Again, I take a century to write one freaking chapter (and one I'm not remarkably proud of, at that).  Oh, well. 

So.  To all you people who reviewed: thanks for the love!  And again, thank you so much for your patience and for bearing with me and my crazy schedule.  Hopefully, the next chapter won't take six months to write.


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